a well-written life

Moving

2010-10-04T09:09:00.000-07:00

Travis and I may be moving to a new house soon (like a house with more than one bedroom) but I guess I'm also moving now.
Even though I promised myself I wouldn't.

Please hop on over to my new blog, it has taken a place in my heart that cannot be removed and I assure you that it will not be all baby -things all the time.
But I can't help myself now. It's all I think about.
So babymakingbybecky.blogspot.com

Come follow me.

(that last sentence was not meant to sound sacrilegious)

Baby making

2010-09-28T09:57:00.000-07:00

I had to make a "themed" blog for one of my classes and update it every day.
I had a very perfect theme in front of me.

Check out my baby blog: babymakingbybecky.blogspot.com

Distracted

2010-09-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

I have not been writing on my blog very much lately.
This is why, I have been much distracted:

Listen from Becky Pitcher on Vimeo.

I am 12 weeks along. Which is the designated time for me to be allowed to tell people the nicest secret ever. Which is a hard secret to keep.

Merry Christmas, you filthy animal!

2010-09-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

I have a hard time deciding whether Home Alone 1 or 2 is my favorite.
Especially during Christmas season.

Which I think it is. Even though everyone else disagrees.

As I watched Home Alone 2 yesterday and pondered what an amazing Christmas/kid classic it is I wondered if my children will even understand it.
Will they watch it and think "Why doesn't Kevin just call his mom's cell phone?"
Or "why can't they just call him on Skype and spend Christmas together even though they're apart?"
Will they wonder how it is possible to get on the wrong flight at such high security airports?
Will they wonder why the people at the hotel let Kevin use a credit card without providing I.D. or at least contacting his father?

Will they even recognize pay phones?
I hardly do.

Will we have heated sidewalks that make them question the slippery ice that so often is the downfall of the bad guys?

Oh. My poor future children.
And thank goodness they made these wonderful movies when they did.
They could never work nowadays.
Kids would never buy it.
(Since it was so believable in the 90s)

But I hope that they understand that part at the end of both movies when all Kevin wants is to see his mom.
Because moms are the best.

And so shall I be the best.

Pancakes in the morning

2010-09-21T08:16:00.001-07:00

I love home movies.

Like this one.

Becky Breakfast In The Morning. from travispitcher on Vimeo.

My Saturdays have been stolen

2010-09-18T09:55:00.000-07:00

Saturdays are a special day.

They're the only day of the week when I get to sleep in.

Eat a luxurious breakfast.

Wander around the farmer's market hand in hand with my husband while bantering happily with the vendors who are now our friends, and accepting the free apple here or jalapenos there.

They are a nice day when we can come home and relax and I can bake a tasty treat with the fruit we just scored and clean up the living room, and finish a project here or a project there that I've been working on. (Like all the hats I've been knitting.)

Travis and I might sit on the couch, eating peaches and milk and watching a movie with the door open so a breeze comes in.

BUT NOW.

I work every Saturday morning.

I come home in the afternoons stressed and tired and collapse into our untidied living room.

Travis says things like "I got these apples today," and hands me a bag of mushy-ish apples. (Can't he even choose apples without me?) and says "And they were out of eggs so we have to go get the tasteless salmonella eggs from the store."

And I don't want to bake or clean because NOW I want to relax.

So we sit on the couch with the door open, so it airs out the weird stink of our house and watch a movie while eating something neither delicious nor romantic, like potato chips until we feel sick because of all the sitting and the stinking and the chips.

And I blame my job.

Because clearly I am happier at home than elsewhere.

Unless elsewhere is the farmer's market.

Non-linear

2010-09-15T18:08:00.000-07:00

After a recent literary conversation, followed by a similar religious conversation I have been thinking a lot about linear lives.

Because we don't really live linearly.
Chronologically, yes.
But the only time our lives are linear is the present. When we look at the past (or the future) we pick out moments.
The time I fell rollerblading down the big hill behind my house.
Sitting in hot tub on our honeymoon, watching Home Alone 2, because it is especially romantic.
Finding out my mom was pregnant with Kathryn-to-be.
Wrestling a pillow away from Travis in the middle of the night.
Playing crack the whip on the pond behind our house.

They're not all events. They're just memories.
And with some effort I could probably put them into chronological order.
But not linear order.
They're like beads on a thread. A moment. A moment. A moment.
But they're not just a thread alone.

Yesterday morning I woke up, and Travis had his arm thrown over my waist and was sharing my pillow and I thought of a moment when I was in high school.
I wasn't depressed in high school, I was usually pretty happy. But I remember being about 15 and lying in my bed, sobbing myself to sleep.
I just kept wishing and praying that my life would pass quickly and I would wake up one morning and be
exactly where I am now.

And that did not happen.

I had to live life at the normal speed for the last 7 years.
And when I look back it's not a blur. Even now, it doesn't seem to me that it "sped by," although I am amazed at how quickly time flies.
I am, of course, grateful that I had all of the experiences I did, and that they didn't happen especially quick.
But at the same time... my 15 year old self knew what was up.
Because I have never been so happy as I am now.

Mormons believe that being married is ordained of God. We're supposed to be married.
And I,
I was made to be married.

It's everything I ever hoped it would be.
It's better.

And nearly every day I slide another little bead, a moment, a happiness on to my thread.
And think, "I will remember this forever."
(even if I won't)

And my chronological, but non-linear life is perfectly perfect and ideally ideal.

Candy Corn

2010-09-14T14:01:00.000-07:00

All of my favorite candies are seasonal.
I wait impatiently all year for candy canes (and peppermints are not the same), and those caramel-filled Cadbury eggs, and -of course- Candy Corn.
Candy corn is the number 1.
I have eaten an entire bag of Autumn Mix Candy Corn this week. I eat them in order.
A regular, a chocolate, a regular, a chocolate, a pumpkin (green top first), then I repeat.

Sometimes in February or August I get the craving for Candy Corn and buy the cheap-o generic yellow corn-only Candy Corn in the candy isle of gas stations.
I think "If I can't have real candy corn, this will have to do."
But it doesn't do.
It makes matters worse.

Because that candy corn is so filled with corn syrup that it hurts my teeth.
But the equally unhealthy Brachs Candy Corn is made with real honey, and something about that real honey balances out the sugar and corn-syrup and I eat it until I throw up and then I think
"I need another bag, since that last bag was wasted."

I never feel remorse for eating it.
Although my current bag is nearly empty and I will not eat any more after it is.

For at least a few days...

The tip-top tier

2010-09-10T18:58:00.000-07:00

I was just looking at some wedding pictures and I love how teeny-tiny our cake looks!
Especially since I've been watching Cake Boss and these people have jumbonormous cakes, and ours is just like the tiny tip-top of a cake.
But I love it.
And there was just enough to cut and eat and it was delicious.

And also, I think my dad had a piece... but no one else did.

Aaand I think my cousin Nichole took this picture.

It was on my facebook...

p.s. Look how long my hair is!

Aaand what a big dork I am in that sweater. In my defense, I was freezing.

In defense of Mormons (myself included)

2010-09-08T21:34:00.000-07:00

I am not brainwashed. I am capable of forming my own opinions.

And when my opinions align with the opinions of my church I don’t appreciate people telling me that I am “blindly following whatever you're told to do” as I was recently accused of doing.

I was also informed that I do not follow any of Jesus Christ’s teachings and that my personal goal is to take away the rights of blacks and gays.

Thank you for informing me of my personality and goals.

This is not okay.

And what I’m looking for in this post isn’t a bunch of comments saying things like “Oh Becky, you totally follow Christ. You’re a good person.”

I am looking to clear the air.

We’ll begin with me apparently trying to take away the rights of others. I suppose that means that I am at fault for Prop 8 being voted through twice.

Fine. Even though I didn’t vote, donate money or spend time in call centers trying to convince others over the phone… I will take responsibility for that. I am not bothered by this.

Less than 13% of the Californian population is Mormon. That means that if every Mormon voted for Prop 8 and every non-Mormon voted against it, Prop 8 would have failed by 87%.

But it didn’t.

Yes, Mormons had something to do with that. Yes, members of the Mormon church donated their personal time and money to trying to pass a law they believe in.

But surely we can’t take all the credit.

And yet, of the 39% of the rest of the Pro-Prop 8ers, no one seems to be harassed to the same extent that we were and are.

If Mormons stand up and say, “We believe that marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God” that is not secret code for “We hate Gays and so does God.”

We do not hate gays. Most of us don’t even dislike gays. Sure, when hordes of screaming homosexuals spray paint rude, profane and frankly bigoty things on our homes and churches we feel uncomfortable and maybe (quite understandably) afraid for our lives.

But I have yet to hear a Mormon say “Gays are evil. Gays are wrong. Gays do not deserve the same rights as us.”

We don’t preach or practice those doctrines.

Most Mormons, myself included, believe that being Gay isn’t something you can control. We don’t even see being Gay as being a sin, since God doesn’t punish you for things you can’t control.

In fact, nearly every Mormon I’ve spoken to about this has expressed grief for the hardships that homosexuals endure. Because, yes, we do believe Sodomy is a sin. And we understand that to be attracted to someone and never be able to act on it may be one of the hardest trials to live through on earth.

But we also believe that people are blessed for living the way that God wants them to.

I know that probably makes Gays angry (and yet I will try not to inform you of how you feel, since I know that I hate being told by others how I feel.). I have had several people yell at me, or to others near me or write nasty things on my blog.

So be it. As long as you’re angry because we pity you or we grieve with you or we wish we could help you understand where we are coming from.

And you’re not angry because, as you seem to believe, we hate you.

Especially me, apparently.

Guess what, Mormons are used to persecution. We know what it’s like for people to pass laws specifically to spite us. We were driven from the United States and were forced to form our own little community in Utah where people would stop burning down our houses and killing our children. We kept moving to places people didn’t want, like a swamp or a desert, hoping –just maybe—that people would leave us alone.

But still you won’t. Our churches are still being burned down.

People are accusing us of being unaccepting, unloving bigots.

Do you know what a bigot is? “A bigot is a person obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices, especially one exhibiting intolerance, irrationality, and animosity toward those of differing beliefs.”

A bigot is not someone who has different beliefs than you. A bigot is someone who is irrational, intolerant, and obstinately devoted to their own opinions.

I have yet to see those qualities exhibited by the Mormon church or individuals in the case of Gay rights.

And yet, when I go to Salt Lake people on the corner yell at me and hold up a sign that says “Go to Hell, Mormons.”

We are not the bigots in this situation.

And the part about me taking away the rights of blacks… I don’t even know what that could possibly mean. I have no refute because I have never even heard the rumor that Mormons think white people are a cut above the rest of the world or that we deserve more rights.

Which is good, since Travis and I went to several Mormon churches in Africa and there certainly weren’t any whites besides us there.

And one would assume that Africans would not follow the teachings of an anti-black, pro-white church unless they were being forced somehow.

And even then, I think they’d have some problems.

In case I have not made myself clear (although I’m pretty sure that I have), I try every single day to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Examples include, loving, accepting and trying to help those around me, understanding principles before “blindly” following them, and making an effort help others understand what I believe, but not forcing them to follow or agree with me.

The church recently released a statement concerning the Prop 8 ruling.

It is short, I encourage you all to read it and determine if it is in anyway hateful, rude, condescending or even negative at all. Especially if it follows the rules of bigotry, is it exhibiting or encouraging intolerance, irrationality, and animosity toward those of differing beliefs?

If you are a reader who is angry with this post and want to leave me a mean comment, please do. However, I ask that you do not leave an unrelated, sarcastic comment like “How weird that people want rights” or “Bizarre how angry people get when you treat them unfairly.” I have gotten those comments before.

I am actually interested in a legitimate opinion concerning something I’ve written, not in an angry tirade that is mostly unrelated to what I’m talking about.

I hope you all have a very nice day, even (and maybe especially), if you are Gay.

(p.s. We don’t practice polygamy in the Mormon church. Stop accusing us of it.)

Movies about brothers

2010-09-07T10:20:00.000-07:00

Last night Travis and I watched a movie with Travis's sister and brother-in-law.
He grabbed a stack of movies, stuck them in his bag and said "We'll figure out what we want to watch when we get there."
On the scooter, driving to Chris and Camille's house I asked "What movies did you bring?"
"All our movies about brothers," he said.
"The Brothers Bloom? A River Runs Through it? maybe... Oh Brother, where art thou?" I guessed.

"Yes," he said. "And some others."

He began with plausible titles that might actually be movies but I know we do not own such as Blood brothers, and Brothers in arms.

And moved on to,
Time for Brother, time for tea. "A british film, very boring. Based on something dumb Jane Austen wrote."

Hermanos "a Spanish film."

Oh my Brother, Jet Li. "A kung fu movie, in Chinese it is SamYiGumJETLI!"

Brother, we're a dead man. "About siamese twins. You know, because they're two people. But one man."

Brother, I am running with two knees braces! Look at that girl with two knee braces! (I'm not sure where the title ends and commentary begins on that one.)

Pierre, Je t'aime. "A french film about the weird sexual tension and romance between two brothers who might not actually be brothers."

I used to be your brother, but now I'm your sister. "I don't actually know what that's about, I haven't seen it. But there's a very ugly woman on the front."

This continued in a stream for 15 minutes straight.
I only wish I could remember the other films he supposedly brought for us to choose from.

We ended up watching The Terminal.
Which is in no way about brothers.
But which is also very good.

Beer breath

2010-09-03T12:15:00.000-07:00

I have recently perfected this gorgeous and delicious bread.
If pressured by my very hungry husband (boy can he eat!) I can make it several times a week.

It is almost always perfect. I am very proud.
But the thing I like most about it is the smell before you cook it.

You pull the dough out of the fridge where it's been resting for a day or two, take off the Saran wrap and BAM!
The sour smell of dough and yeast, smelling exactly like beer breath hits your nostrils.

You think I am gross for saying that I love that smell.
And let me say, I do not usually like when people have beer breath.

BUT beer breath is not a smell that I get whiffs of on a regular basis here on BYU campus.
And to be frank, my high school friends were pretty much all good Lutherans who didn't really drink, or people who liked me enough not to invite me to parties they'd be drinking at.

So the only time I ever really smelled beer breath up close was when I was with my family.
The Froelich side.
And let me say, Froelichs are kissers. This is something I didn't know until Travis started meeting people and going "Ew gross, you kissed your grandpa on the mouth" or "I can't believe you've just kissed every aunt and uncle in this entire room. Do I have to?"

Yep, we're kissers. We pucker up our lips and give each other a kiss on the cheek, or in the case of grandparents, sometimes on the lips.
And I never noticed.

It was very normal to me.

But the smell of this bread, when I pull it out of the fridge to let it rise smells like tickly mustaches, and curling up in an armchair with my Grandpa Roger, and even (dare I say it?) a little like holidays.
I'm sure that my good Mormon parents are horrified to read this.
Embarrassed maybe that beer makes me think of my family.

But I have a very distinct memory of sitting in an armchair with my grandpa, asking for a sip of his pop.
He gave me a drink all right, but it was not soda. I choked while he chuckled in his red-cheeked grandfathery sort of way.
Oh, how funny they were.

There, sadly, were several other times when I fell for this trick.
Kids are just plain stupid.
But after I learned to smell the beer before drinking, I wised up.

And yet. I smell beer and I think of grandpas and uncles and Minnesota and it makes me feel nostalgic and silly.
And I like it.

This is what I think of when I smell that bread.
This is me in a night gown, snuggled up on an armchair with Grandpa Roger, who does not look as jovial as usual.
But I seem very happy, despite my terrible bowl cut.

And this is an unrelated but awesome photo that I came across while looking for the picture above.

Dad, nice mullet and mustache.
Mom, nice mullet and blue eye shadow.
Creepy.
But that cute baby is me.
(Their anniversary just came and went recently. Happy 22 years of marriage, you guys. You've only gotten better at doing your hair.)

Bleeding Heart

2010-09-02T19:34:00.000-07:00

"You know the problem with being a bleeding heart?"

"Are you a bleeding heart?"

"Yes. I think so. Don't you think so?"

"Oh yes. I think bleeding heart, synonym: Travis Pitcher."

"Well, I am."

"So what's the problem?"

"You just let your heart bleed too much. Until you're out of blood."

"Then you stop caring? Or are you dead?"

"There's just so much wrong with the world. There's so much to do. I want to do something. Something real, something that matters. But if you let yourself care too much you just dry up until you're discouraged looking at everything that has to be done."

So, blog readers. Help Travis "bleeding heart" Pitcher out.

Everything I know about poverty, about women's rights, about child mortality, about the spread of disease, and about every major problem in the world tells me that problems could be solved if we had that one magic thing:

Education.

I know that my last post was a little anti-school. But really it was anti-useless school. Which is something, sometimes (when I'm sitting in a class about facebook or Victorian Literature) I feel like I am paying for.

Travis recently did a Tipping Bucket to help underprivileged kids right here in the USA get education.

Go donate a dollar asap.

But I just want to brag a teeny-tiny bit about my sweet bleeding heart husband.

Travis has made several films for the Tipping Bucket, most of which are helping raise money for education.

Travis has made a beautiful documentary for Komaza, an organization in Kenya helping farmers come out of poverty, and although they don't say it in the documentary I sat and listened to farmer after farmer say "the things I will spend this money on are school fees for my children."

Travis isn't changing laws or pushing bills or helping revolutions to rise.

But every time he helps make it possible for one more kid to go to school he changes their life.

He changes the lives of their families and their future posterity.

It's hard to look out at the world and see all the problems.

And it's really hard for some of us (me) to ever focus on the problems of anyone beside ourselves.

And I'm really proud of my bleeding heart husband.

And if you want to help, but don't quite know how...

start by donating a dollar.

WISHBONE- Dare Your Courage from travispitcher on Vimeo.

So, back to school

2010-09-02T06:55:00.000-07:00

I am going today to my fourth day of school this semester.

On Monday I went and was relatively excited.

It was cool, brisk, and campus was filled with little people asking directions and studying their freshman planners with maps in the back.

I thought "This is my last fall on campus!" and then felt sad, nostalgic-like.

Tuesday morning I woke up thinking that it was Thursday. Already.

I cannot keep track of the days during the school year.

I went to my first class and after ten minutes I decided I couldn't bear it anymore, and I had the syllabus and I would just get up and leave for the rest of the day.

That's how desperate I felt.

Immediately.

Luckily my prof was on the same wave-length. "You all know how to read, so go read your syllabus in peace. I won't read it to you."

Class dismissed 12 minutes in.

Good thing I stayed those extra two minutes.

I would have felt foolish if I'd left two minutes before being dismissed.

But I was literally packing up when he said that.

By Wednesday, I'm back into the resigned rhythm of things.

I get up. Meh.

I go to class. Meh.

I sit in back by a boy I used to have a crush on, even though I had previously decided not to sit there.

But there were no other seats. Meh. Of course not.

Then we get out of class ten minutes late, since the prof says as the bell rings "Oh, don't leave without your assignment." Then talks for eight minutes and says, "And just start reading, no real page number to get to." Meh. Professors. Bleh. Assignments.

I escape into the serious fire hazard that is the JKB and fight to the back stairs with four hundred other people, while another four hundred fight their way in. Meh. I blame freshman for all of my campus problems.

Freshman are the reason Professors treat us like babies, right? (I like being a Senior and getting to rip on Freshman.)

I make it to my next class late and our professor doesn't understand any of the jokes we crack.

It's a good class.

And it's full of other English major seniors. I know them all.

I like when people say "Hey Becky, how was your summer?"

I find it comforting.

Our prof says "Has anyone ever died playing video games?"

"Socially?" asks someone; we all laugh and so does our professor. But then she says, "Not kills you've had in your war games. Actual deaths."

And then we all laugh again.

Because she didn't actually understand the joke.

But she doesn't know that.

Then work. Meh.

Then another class where I go and sit and get the syllabus and literally do not know whether or not it's the classroom I'm supposed to be in.

People say "We've had a class together. Did you take whatever with Professor so and so?"

And I don't know.

Because all of my English classes from past semesters have blended into one long literature class by this time. Meh.

I have a hard time even picturing different professors I've had, let alone remembering what class I had them for.

I usually just remember whether or not I liked them. Meh.

You're sick of this, too.

Aren't you?

That's okay. I'm getting bored and discouraged just typing about school.

Meh. Bleh.

School.

The road to my house

2010-08-30T15:06:00.001-07:00

is paved with good intentions.

(That was a very poor pun.)

Recently I was very lucky in that two of my best friends from home in good ol' Buffalo Minnesota came to see me!

Okay, fine, so their intentions were not exactly based around visiting me, but more around finding somewhere free to sleep in Utah on their road trip home from California.

But whatever.

I accept.

It's been over a year since I've seen anyone from home (except the three or four family members from MN who came to my wedding last October)

and it was a refreshing change to see them here instead of in Buffalo.

Hey. The rest of you Minnesotans thinking to yourselves "I wish I could see Becky," take a leaf out of Logan and Eli's book and come stay here.

I will let you sleep in my house and I will feed you.

It's not too bad a gig.

I miss all these folks.

p.s. Logan looks like a teeny tiny little person next to Eli and me.

Sushi

2010-08-28T19:03:00.000-07:00

Sushi is both easier and more difficult to make than I expected.

It is easier because it turns out that all you do is take a sheet of Norri (roasted seaweed sushi paper) and pile on some sushi rice, a few slices of cucumber, avocado and imitation crab (who can afford real crab?) and then roll it up.

BUT it is much more difficult to roll than it should be.
And if, like me, you think of putting a handful of each ingredient on the Norri before rolling it...
let me advise you: don't.
Just a little will do.

Or else your roll will taste good but look like a no-armed man with a mallet rolled and chopped it.
You will have to eat it with a spoon.

But it will be delicious.

And here's the price breakdown of making it yourself.
Enough fake crab for a California roll: about .25$
Enough avocado for a California roll (1/4avocado): .25$
Enough cucumber for a California roll (1/8 cucumber): .13$
Enough sushi rice for a California roll (1/4cup): .10$
AND 1 sheet of Norri: .20$

Making the grad homemade total of...

93 cents a roll!

I'm starting to think, who cares if you have to eat it with a spoon in the comfort of your own home with a side of Animal crackers and extra sushi rice?

If it costs less than a dollar, it is totally worth it.

And another tip from a now seasoned sushi-chef: Those bamboo mat things might seem like a non-required for sushi-making scam for your money.
They aren't.

Buy one, or your rolls -if they manage to hold together (as Travis managed to make the second roll hold) will fall apart the moment you touch down to the soy sauce bowl.

Matt and Lana crouched under a tree

2010-08-27T17:38:00.000-07:00

K-I-S-S-I-N-G!

I am very excited about Lana being married.
Especially because it is to Matt.

When we found out they were talking marriage Travis said, "Well, she'd be a freaking idiot not to marry him, since they're clearly awesome together."

Good thing Lana is not a freaking idiot.

Today I got to take their engagement photos, which was aaawesome! They are a really fun and super attractive couple, which made today work out, despite all the mishaps.
Mishap example: A perfect dusky cloudy day went from perfect to raining to REALLY harsh sunlight in about a half hour and remained really harsh until we were pretty much done.
It is possible that I made them huddle under a tree in the semi-shade.
I think that really annoyed poor Matthew.
Mishap example 2: We had planned on doing the photos in a canoe, but the canoe rentals were closed because it was so very windy.
Mishap example 3: I had an allergic reaction to all the plant life surrounding Utah Lake.

We seriously finished these photos less than an hour ago, but I already want to share a few of my favorites.
I can't wait any longer!
Aren't they a good-looking pair?

Hell-mates

2010-08-25T14:49:00.000-07:00

That is what we always call helmets.
Mostly because it's slightly silly.
But also because I HATE wearing a helmet on the scooter.
It messes up my hair.
It makes it hard to hear.
It sometimes gives me a headache.

But now we have new totally awesome helmets, which I shall probably still call a hell-mate, even though I like it:
We got them from Korea.

With a little hand-written note, too.
How sweet.

Cute, right?

Campus Realizations

2010-08-19T16:05:00.000-07:00

Today as I walked across campus on my way home I had a little conversation with an imaginary person.

First I said, "I love seeing the Freshmen. Some with braces, with BYU t-shirts they bought today or yesterday at the bookstore, some with little-kid skinniness-especially around the elbows. I think they're so cute. So surprisingly little."

Imaginary person said, "I love seeing them taking pictures in front of the statue of Brigham Young. You do have a gorgeous campus, you know."

"It is nice, isn't it?" I said (nonchalantly, of course).

And it was, with the sun dappled leaves casting polk-dotted shadows and green and flowers everywhere.

And suddenly I realized something.

For real.

Even though I've known it for ages.

Next year at this time I won't have any excuse to buy bouquets of sharpened pencils, or go school shopping, and if I'm walking down a tree-lined street surrounded by the brilliance of orange leaves...

I won't be walking to or from school.

I might be hanging up a newly acquired diploma inside my newly acquired apartment, which could be anywhere. Literally anywhere in the entire world.

Except for the changing of the seasons, I abhor change.

Even when I moved from pre-school to elementary, elementary to middle, middle to high and high to university... they were all schools.

I've been going and doing and working and hating and loving and thinking about school for as long as I can remember and even though I am excited to be done...

I am also not.

How can I just turn the school switch off?

Flick. School no longer exists.

And suddenly I am one of those seniors.

And I do own a rumpled plaid shirt and chic leather book bag to swing over my shoulder. I have glasses that are too big for my face because I think they're cool, and I am a pro at giving condescending looks to freshman when they ask for directions while still telling them exactly how to get to their next class.

When people say to me, "Oh have you had so-and-so as a professor?" I can say yes or no, and yet still give them satisfactory information on said professor either way.

Because I've been here.

I have been here for years.

Three years.

I left home and never went back.

And I did all my growing up here.

I became an adult (at least mostly). I figured out who I am.

I found the best friends I'd ever had in dorm rooms and the best friend I'll ever have in my husband.

I got married. and I found out (even more) who I am.

I started becoming (as Lana likes to call it) "The fullness of Becky" when I met my second half and became a whole person.

I found out what I wanted to do with my life. I realized what I love to do and that I am capable of doing it.

I started dressing myself in clothes that I liked because I liked them, and not because I wanted to portray a certain image or be like someone else.

Oh, I've stopped trying to be like other people! That is a big deal!

Yes, I still look up to other people and try to develop in myself qualities I admire in them, but I've stopped blinking more than is usual because I saw someone do it and wanted to see how I felt about it.

I've stopped walking with the stupid posture that some girls in high school used to walk with, and which I mimicked because I was stupid too.

I've stopped buying clothes at Thrift stores because hip people do that and realized that (except under special circumstances) I really like clean, neatly folded clothes arranged by color and style and the DI is not that good of a deal for stained, pre-used clothes that I usually have to alter anyway.

I've stopped making up excuses for myself when people come over and I'm reading Winnie-the-Pooh or Harry Potter.

Because I love children's books.

That is all the excuse I need.

No. It is not for a class.

It is not because I'm stupid and cannot read literature written for adults.

It's not because I feel the need to read what I want to write.

It's because I love it.

And I've realized that even if I don't love grades, tardies, the testing center, or generals that I do not find pertinent to myself...

I do love school.

Although, don't expect me to admit to any such thing in a few weeks once classes start.

Because I do not love school work.

**Also, much of my thinking stemmed from this post from Julie.

Hasta la vista, baby

2010-08-19T08:26:00.000-07:00

I spend a great deal of time on Youtube.
But my friends and family are to blame.
Here are some new favorites.

Double Rainbow:

And, of course, the Double Rainbow song which is very catchy and can, of course, be purchased on iTunes:

Then Joe showed me the Zuiikin' English Aerobics girls.
This very educational show teaches English to the Japanese by repeating common English phrases while exercising.
The shows seemed to be laid out in two distinct ways. In one type of episode, a scenario is acted out and the phrases one should use is such a situation are taught.
For example, if you are alone in New York City...

In the second type of episode a theme such as "Things to say on a date" is picked and the girls repeat important phrases like "You look sensational in that dress," or "I want us to be more than just friends."
Here's my favorite: (You cannot be blamed if you skip ahead between new phrases, but it becomes a catchy tune you want to sing everything to.)

p.s. Do you love that Hasta la vista is actually Spanish?

Hallelujah

2010-08-18T15:17:00.000-07:00

This is where I've been sitting.
In my doorway, where I can see, smell, hear, taste, and touch the rain. And yes, that is a pot of freshly made chocolate frosting with graham crackers next to it.
Why not indulge in some comfort food while feeling so comfortable?

This is the view of the sky from my doorway. And just below the sky is the view of my wet and pretty street. This pictures aren't exactly professional-photographer-worthy, right? They are for Travis who is at work and does not have a window.
But he does have a mac.
Travis and I learned how to spell hallelujah on Sunday.
We both tried several times before looking it up in the Bible Dictionary and then we both practiced writing it in speech bubbles over the cartoon people drawn on the back of our church program.

If any type of weather deserves a hallelujah (correctly spelled), it is this gorgeous rain.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Praise ye the Lord!
Today is highly perfect.

edit: This blogpost now has a part two:
PART TWO:
My computer does amazingly well choosing rainy day music.
Yes, it even chose Hallelujah, which was in fact why I decided to title my post by that name.
Here is the mix that it created and which I am listening to currently:

Hand Model

2010-08-17T11:30:00.000-07:00

I have been the voice in a few videos Travis has made.
I have even been featured entirely before.

But this is the first time I have gotten to work as.....
A HAND MODEL!
Look at those chubby little hands.
Cute, right?

Also, he still works as Tipping Bucket movie maker.
So, you should hop on over to the Tipping Bucket and give them one dollar of your money.

Build a Library in Malawi from travispitcher on Vimeo.

Feminism in the Pitcher house: like a sci-fi stripper

2010-08-15T14:09:00.000-07:00

Today after my hair was staticed to my forehead, I said "How do I look?"

And although I was fully dressed (and in church clothes, too!)

Travis looked me over and said,

"Hot. Like a striper.

From a sci-fi movie."

A few minutes later he said "Don't put that on your blog."

"Too late," I said.

"You've already written it?"

"No, I've already planned what to write about it."

"Ahh," he said.

Then he said "All I wanted was to make you feel sexy even though your hair was crazy and stupid. I'm just trying to empower my wife. But, it seems I have empowered her too much. Since she will not even respect my wishes."

Then when I read this aloud he said "That's a pretty good blog post."

Then he suggested my title.

Then he said not to write it, but I did.

Everything I've written here is true.

from scratch

2010-08-14T13:39:00.000-07:00

Before Travis and I were married he believed me to be a terrible, terrible cook.
Which I am not. I'm actually quite good.

In his defense, in all the time we were dating I had only made him two dinners and one plum cake.
All of which were terrible failures.
The food tasted, looked and was terrible, so it was alright to assume I was a terrible cook.

In MY defense, I had no kitchen, no money for actual groceries, no supplies like spices, flavorings, or sauces except for soy sauce (and I used Soy Sauce for all it was worth) and I had none of the beautiful pots, pans or utensils that I got when we were married.
All I had was one scraped up and very horrible pot and a rice cooker that only half-cooked rice.

So most of the food was either frozen or just-add-water before I tried to turn it in to a meal.
Just like any unmarried college-student though.
Stop with those accusing looks.

There were some things I had down when we got married and that I could make amazingly well even before I had my own kitchen.
Chocolate cake, chocolate chip cookies, and fruit pies among them.

Okay, so mostly desserts.
But there was one dessert that I was not an expert at making and had, in fact, never even had homemade.
Snickerdoodles.
Snickerdoodles were not a homemade cookie. Snickerdoodles were bought on occasion from bookstore cafes.

If one wanted to make snickerdoodles then one would merely roll sugar cookies in cinnamon/sugar. Duh.

Travis LOVES snickerdoodles. And somehow (amazingly) he can tell whether or not I've added that one little teaspoon of powder that makes snickerdoodles different from sugar cookies. Cream of Tarter, which when we were newly married I usually just skipped and didn't notice the loss.
But Travis did.

So I persevered. And I made snickerdoodles all the time.
And now, I can announce to the world that I, Becky Pitcher, am the baker of awesome, awesome snickerdoodles.
The recipe I use is here, but I admit that it took me several times to get it down perfectly.
It probably will not take you so long if you actually use cream of tarter, actually chill the dough, actually cook it for the correct amount of time, actually roll it in LOTS of sugar and cinnamon.

But I am very proud.
It caused someone to recently exclaim "Oh wow, these are good! Are these from scratch?"

And I literally stared at her for about 30 seconds while the phrase "From Scratch" did not ring any bells.
Of course my food is from scratch.
Are there other ways to make food?
My mind went around and around and when I finally mumbled "Yes" she had moved on. It took me too long to respond.

Oh! How quickly the mind forgets.
Just a year ago, I ate nothing "from scratch" and if I did I would lay afterward in a food coma, thinking about delicious it was and how much I missed my mother with her full kitchen and food-stained cookbook and excellent baking abilities.

Now I am trying to be that. A woman with a full kitchen, dozens of well-used and food stained cookbooks and excellent baking abilities.
And I'm already forgetting I was ever anything else.

Chilly

2010-08-13T09:30:00.000-07:00

Chilly is my favorite weather.

Chilly is fall. Chilly is sweaters. Chilly is new pencils. Chilly is Halloween Costumes. Chilly is ginger tea on the couch with Travis while watching a movie.

Chilly weather.

It is August, and they (the nameless masses) say the end of August is the hottest part of summer. They claim that summer is not yet over.
They hold on, planning days at the lake, eating numerous hot dogs, saying "we've got a few more months; plant some seeds in your brand new and very beautiful planter box."

I claim summer is ending.
I comfortably wore a cardigan to church on Sunday.
I saw Halloween things on sale on Monday and nearly wet myself with excitement, and have starting using a blanket at night again, and have been wanting to knit and wanting to bake warm bean soup and wear my pretty new scarf.

Maybe it's all the rain that's confusing me. It's making it cold outside.
And maybe its the love of all things summery that's confusing everyone else.

But chilly is my favorite weather, and cold is just after it in the list. Warm is next but HOT is dead last.
I hate the heat.
I abhor it.

And I don't mind if summer's ending early as long as it means we've got a nice long fall ahead of us.
Mmmmm, fall.
I do love fall.

p.s.
This is unrelated. But check out the funny video of my five-year old sister in Yellowstone.
So cute. Oh, AND she's wearing a sweatshirt. Must be chilly. :)

The Prairie

2010-08-12T09:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I spent the day slumping around and being grouchy.
As the day continued, I became more and more defensive.

I was home alone.
But I was sure that when Travis got home he would be angry with me and I would have to defend myself, since I was also sure that I was right.
And I spent the whole day preparing my defenses.

You see, about a week ago Travis gave me 50 dollars and said "Don't use the debit card this week, just use the cash."

And I was probably supposed to spend it on groceries and things (which I did) but I was also not supposed to go shopping.
Or so one must assume.

But I went to the DI, (that doesn't count as shopping, right?) to look for a frame so I could finally hang up our blasted Proclamation to the World.
I am on a beautifying-my-home kick after going to my friend Suzanne's and finding it to be the most darling house I've ever been in (She is an interior designer -check out what she did in Nie Nie's house - SO cute, right?)
And as I was already at the DI i decided to wander through the other sections in case there was something I absolutely needed.

And there was something.
It was a 6 dollar box-set.
Of books that I already owned beautiful copies of.

But I bought it.
And then I felt guilty.

And then I was mad that Travis was mad (which he wasn't, because he wasn't home)and I might have hidden the box set so he wouldn't go "Where'd that come from?" and then I would have to say "The DI."
And then he'd say "But you already own those books."
and I'd say "But mine are antiques! Mine are too old for children to read, and they're kids books!"
And then we'd both be angry.

But when Travis got home he said "Did you go to DI?"
and I freaked out a little.
"How did you know that?"
"I just know things," he teased.
"How did you know I went to the DI?"

And then I remembered that I had looked up the address online and left the page up, and he had seen it.
"What did you buy?" he asked.(Conversationally, but to me it seemed hostile)
"A frame and ...mumble mumble..."
and I left the room quickly.

And he said, "Hey, what did you buy?"
"A box set of books," I said.
"How much was that?" he asked.
"Six dollars."
"That's not bad at all," he said. "What books?"
"Well, they're books I already own, but they're my favorite books so..."
"What books are they?" he repeated.
"The Little House books."

"That's awesome!" said Travis, "all the books for 6 dollars is not too shabby."

Oh, I love him.

Why am I so crazy and paranoid?

p.s. Look how cute, my grandpa signed his name in half these books as a little kid.

I love Komaza

2010-08-11T12:43:00.001-07:00

Another video for Africa!

Travis dear has finished editing a promo for Komaza, the agri-business we worked with in Kenya.

Its main purpose is to introduce someone to Kilifi and Komaza very simply (and prettily) but it doesn't relay tons of facts or information.

Those videos are still coming, and we still need to interview Komaza's founder Tevis (hopefully we will in the fall!) since he's been here in the US, not in Kenya.

Fingers crossed!

Komaza Teaser from travispitcher on Vimeo.

Pretty, isn't it?

And our very, very VERY talented friend Micah is a composer and he wrote the music for the next video. (Not the one you just watched)

This was up right after we got home, but now it has music, so it is much better.

Towards Africa (with music!) from travispitcher on Vimeo.

Ungaurded Fruit

2010-08-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

Travis and I had a very good Family Night this week (even though every single night is family night at the Pitcher home).

First, we spent about an hour at an undisclosed location (we wouldn't want you to go stealing our fruit would you?) picking the sweetest dark red plums. An entire grocery bag full!
Then we spent about an hour and a half at a different (but also undisclosed) location picking a grocery bag of blackberries.

This free unguarded, mostly untended fruit is the tastiest, freshest food I've ever had.

We came home with sticky feet, scratched up arms and reddish-blue hands and teeth.
Mmm. What a good Family Night.

And what a good Family Morning, eating fruit for breakfast.

p.s. wanna talk about how pretty these pictures are? Thanks 28mm lens!

happy

2010-08-10T10:32:00.000-07:00

This blurry, light, happy picture is exactly how I feel today.

Homemaking

2010-08-10T08:51:00.000-07:00

I have decided that a homemaker is one of two people:

1. Someone who makes a home outta a house or
2. Someone who makes things homemade.

Travis and I are both homemakers.

Travis built this planter box outside our door.
Gorgeous, isn't it? In comparison to dead leaves, old pumpkins (yes, I admit, there were still two old crusty, rotten jack-o-lanterns) and actual garbage next to our door.

And within two days all the seeds that fell from the bird feeder had sprouted in the good clean soil and in the spring we'll plant real flowers and herbs and maybe a tomato plant.
We're making this house a home.

And I made homemade pasta!
It was a first, but after such a success it will not be the last.
I hand rolled the dough, baked the butternut squash that filled it and then served it with homemade sourdough bread, and fresh garden green beans.

Travis made the sauce and it was awesome! It took like 4 hours. He grated up about 10 different veggies and mashed up half a dozen tomatoes and just let them boil for hours until the tastes had all soaked and blended.

It was quite the homemade meal.
We were very proud of its deliciousness.

Missing

2010-08-07T11:35:00.000-07:00

I like this story Lana told me:

Her Mom keeps referring to Travis as my boyfriend, and Lana keeps correcting "Husband, Mom, Travis is her husband. They've been married for almost a year."

And then her mom says things like "Why does her husband need to come, if they've been married for a year? Don't they want a break from each other? Aren't they sick of each other?"

I like that story because we don't and we're not.

And I had to fall asleep last night with 6 pillows in my bed, so it felt more crowded.

And I had to talk to Travis on the phone until I was nodding off, so I wouldn't be hours falling asleep.

And he had to call me in the morning and say that he was sad and that he missed me and that he never wanted to leave me again.

And today I drew a picture of Piglet holding a balloon that says I Miss You, and he's looking at Pooh, who is on the other side of the page and Pooh says "I wish we weren't so far apart."

And I was going to scan it, but I can't remember how.

But I drew it because we love the stories and pictures from Winnie-the-Pooh.

And because its hard to be apart from your best friend.

Which little Piglet knows perfectly well.

10 Happenings

2010-08-05T11:40:00.000-07:00

Things that have happened since my last blog post:

1. Harry Potter's birthday party was on Saturday night. As always, it was full of tasty treats and a few people in costumes and more people NOT in costumes. But it was fun, and the ability of my friends to answer HP book trivia was somewhat amazing.

2. I went berry-picking with Lana, but forgot to bring money and so I only got 2$ worth of berries. But that was still a pound of berries.
We used some (along with the apricots we picked off a big free tree) to make raspberry-apricot lemonade which I would highly recommend.

3. Oh, Lana has become engaged.

4. I have had several freak-out incidents concerning the fact that my best friend is now engaged. Many of which are highly selfish. They deal with the following facts (lettered, not numbered - to prevent confusion)
a. I now have a best friend with whom I can discuss all things martial, because she will be married and understand all my gushing and loving, and wantings and snugglings and my want to cook the best dinner for him every night because I love him, and how I love to make a schedule like Ma Ingalls like "Wash on Monday, Iron on Tuesday, Bake on Wednesday" and how I want a baby but am "being unrealistic" and how I want a garden but am lazy and allergic to plants and don't like to get dirty. And she might think I'm silly, but she's silly too and so we understand each other. Which I like.
b. Travis actually likes Matt, which means that he will not complain when I hang out with Lana and be like "I'm a boy, I need friends who are boys. I don't just want to hang out around girls all day." So now when Lana AND Matt come over and Lana and I are like "blah blah blah girl stuff."
They can be like "Cars, hunting, hiking, we are manly and discuss many manly things. Muscles, pooping, sex."
(Boys are gross.)
c. I get to go to California! For the first time in my memory, although I have apparently been there before. (Nobody in my family remembers the trip to Disneyland, but we have pictures. I think they were forged by the FBI after erasing our memories of a sensitive incident. What could have happened on that trip to California that the government SO wanted us to forget?)
Anyway, I get to go to Lana's wedding and Travis and I get to be their photographers. Huzzah!
d. I get to go through the temple with Lana. (I said before I am excited for selfish reasons and this is one especially selfish reason.) Being that Lana is a convert to the church and her Mom is not a member, she needs a best friend who can go to the temple with her the first time she goes... and that person is ME!
e. My other married best friends Cole and Suzie have left me and never ever call me or pretend to remember me. So I shall replace them.
Just kidding.
Lana and Matt have a new married place in my marriage-biased heart. They are not taking the Nielsen's place. I still have the Nielsen's in my heart.... for the time being. They should call me and secure their place more firmly, though.

(moving on)

5. I have practically become an expert at my baby photographing job which is the best job in the world. The only problems?
a. I cannot go in the patients room unless they sign the consents first.
b. The patients do not sign the consents until after the nurses give them to their patients to sign.
c. The nurses do not hand the consents to their patients until after I have harassed them for many hours.
d. I spend many hours waiting at the nurses stations saying things like "What does the mom in room 413 want?" and getting responses like "Oh, I forgot to ask her."

6. I got seriously rained upon.
Those raindrops yesterday were like little bullets!

7. We reinstated dessert-night Wednesdays. So last night Sienna and Amalia came over and I learned the best way to make pudding EVER. Do it like this:
Mix one packet of pudding mix with a can of sweetened condensed milk and 1 1/2 cups of water, and 2 cups of whipped cream.
Gah! You might have a seizure from sugary goodness. Mmmm. Then put it in a bowl and top with sliced bananas and Nilla Wafers. You will not be disappointed.

8. I slept awesomely last night and the reason why is this: It was thunderstormy and chilly. So I snuggled up in a real blanket and Travis let me curl up against his warm body and touch him with out going like this "Nnnnooooo... *moaning sound* It's too hot. Don't touch me. Stop touching me. It's too hot. Turn the fan up more and don't touch me again."
He's quite the bully at night time in the summer time past bed time, when it's so hot that we both nearly die.
But I hate sleeping when I'm hot.
And I hate sleeping without blankets (but one must, in the summer heat.)
And most of all, I hate sleeping over on my side of the bed and not being allowed to snuggle, touch, or remotely harass my husband while he sleeps.

It is my main reason for sleeping poorly.

9. I learned that we are just as broke as we ever were. Amazingly, this came as a shock to me. Here's why:
a. Travis lets me buys things like several cookbooks when I say "Hey, can I buy this cookbook?" (I have to ask for permission, not because he's really bossy or controlling. But because he's the only one who ever looks at our bank account and is the decider of what to buy and not to buy. Maybe I have learned my lesson and will look at my bank account for once.)
b. When Travis said, "Do you want to go out to eat every week for the rest of the month for Friday's date night or get 7 Peaks Passes?" and I yelled "7 Peaks! I hate date night!" (not true, of course. I LOVE date night) he just BOUGHT them. Despite the fact that they were pricey.
c. When he said "Hey can I buy a 300$ lens for my camera that I really want, which is a 28mm, so I know you also really want it?" and said "Umm, I don't know. Can we afford it?" and he said "YES!" so I said "YES!" and so we bought it, and I thought "Can we afford it?" meant "Do we have several bazillion dollars?" but he didn't know that I meant that. So I should be more specific with my questions. But I do love that lens, and it was quite an amazing deal.
d. We can still pay our bills and buy expensive groceries since I have high tastes and lots of "food morals" concerning how my food is made and where it comes from. And when we went to the store to buy me a plain black t-shirt for work and I became distracted by all of the very very many things that I want but do not need Travis said "We'll come back soon and go shopping."
So I was maybe mislead concerning our money.
I mislead myself by not totally understanding money (at all), and believing that two good, nice people like us probably had endless supplies of cash lying around. Despite the fact that we just went on a very expensive trip to Africa and were not paid to go.

10. The tenth happening. The one you've all been waiting for.
I have learned that Travis Pitcher my tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, handsome, manly, too hot to let me touch him at night, protective, eater of lots of food, and maker of cool documentaries and slam dunker extraordinaire (although he did tell me that its embarrassing to him when I say Slam Dunk because I sound like an 8-year old boy after watching Space Jam and I should just say dunk. Like, "so last night I dunked the ball twelve times in a row.") super extra the best ever husband is... leaving.
Not permanently. But as you may know from previous evenings when he has gone off on film-related business trips (sketchy, right?) I have melt-downs and cryings and cannot fall asleep and am afraid of being home alone without him.
So I am sad because he's leaving tomorrow WAY too early in the morning, so I don't want to take him to the airport, but even if I did want to... we don't have a car. And even if we did I am needlessly afraid of driving from the city by myself.
And he'll be gone all day Friday. And all that night and all day Saturday.
But then he will be home.
So he's only gone one night but Lauren and maybe Lana will spend the night at my house in my bed and I will snuggle with them if they let me because I am a snuggler. I cannot change who I am based on whether or not we are married.
And we will go see Letters to Juliet at the theater because Travis was like "That's a girl movie. Have fun with your girl friends at that movie. I'm bored but I don' t want to see it even though it's only a dollar. I want to eat red meat because I'm a manly man and hate girl movies."

So good riddance to him.
(I am already sad and miss him and he's just at work.)

Sleep?

2010-07-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

Travis and I no longer sleep.

We take turns not sleeping.

He gets up every other day at 4, and wanders around until sitting down and editing film.

I've been so restless that I've been sleepwalking, which I haven't done since I was much younger.

Last night I woke up suddenly in the kitchen at 1am.

The only reason I woke up was because the toaster I was holding and trying to pry away from the wall suddenly clattered to the ground and the sound startled me.

Travis called from bed, "Are you okay? What are you doing?"

And I had no idea. What was I doing?

I went back to bed, but not back to sleep. I tossed and turned (literally) dozing in and out until about 6 when it started getting light outside and I got up. Now it's almost 8, and I only have 40minutes before I have to leave for work. I planned on getting up at this time, but since I'm already awake, dressed, showered and have eaten... I have nothing to do for 40 minutes except feel tired and not sleep.

I think maybe I'm like a baby... you know, how babies need really specific routines in order to sleep? Anyone have any ideas?

If I eat or read before bed I have really crazy, tiresome dreams and wake up exhausted.

But this stinks.

I love to sleep.

I hate sleepwalking.

Bella Baby Photography

2010-07-25T19:26:00.000-07:00

After lots of training, procrastination and feeling scared I am finally beginning my new job! Early tomorrow morning (so when you read this I'll probably be at work!) I will drive the scooter to the hospital, camera bag in tow, and begin snapping photos!

I'm working with Bella Baby Photography taking pictures of the new born babies. Check out their website, it's SO sweet. We take the pictures right in the room, always in sight of Mom, often on the foot of the bed, or even in Mom's arms.
We post the pictures online within a half-hour and sell the pictures to any family that wants the pictures (and who wouldn't?) and I get paid a commission. So even if Grandma is across the world she can look at them the same time as Mom can. It's pretty amazing technology.

I can't post any pictures because of confidentiality issues, but I'll be sure to tell you every time I see a really cute baby (probably every day.)

Travis says "Promise me you won't come home wanting a baby."
I say, "Yeah right, there's no way I can go and take pictures of an average of 10 new babies a day and not want one. I want one now and I hardly ever see them."
I love babies.

I love taking pictures.

This is the perfect job, am I right?

Some video from Africa!

2010-07-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

If you are queesy: stop the film at 3minutes30seconds.

EyeCampRoughRun from travispitcher on Vimeo.

This is some footage from Uganda, it is (of course) beautifully shot and beautifully edited and I can take very little credit for either thing.
Although most days in Africa I helped film or work on sound, the hospital was very crowded I was more in the way than helpful inside. I babysat Travis's equipment though, since he could hardly have his giant backpack on inside. (You turn suddenly while wearing it and people get hit in the face, and if those people are blind they have no chance of avoiding your bag.)

For my Komaza friends, I'm sorry we don't have any Kenya footage to show you, but if you can manage to load this video on your very slow internet then this will at least give you an idea of what our footage will look like.

When you're watching it remember that this is a rough cut, and there will be narration explaining the Eye Camp. Here is what the narrator may say (beginning after the lady in pink says "I'm not looking proper"): In rural Uganda people have gone their entire lives without ever having their eyes checked. They gather together for a free exam, first having basic checkups by professional doctors and nurses. The doctors write prescriptions for free medications and give away free eye glasses, all fund-raised by the Tipping Bucket.
*The screen goes black*
But the real miracle is when sight is restored completely.
Many people, living blind with cataracts for years begin being preped for surgery to have the cataracts removed. The clouded lens is carefully cut from the eye and replaced with a new clear lens.
Then the film ends, but in reality the film will not end yet. The next morning when the bandages were removed people cried out, excited that they could see. A man saw his wife and daughter come in and could not stop looking at their faces, so grateful was he to finally see them. It was a really neat day and Travis (of course) captured it all so well.

Beautiful Girls

2010-07-21T08:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I took some pictures for the BYU Women's Services Office for their Beauty Campaign, which will be launched this fall.
Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I seriously stared at these shirts for an entire minute.
"Be a... What is that?" I thought. "What is a Utiful and how can I be one?"

When I learned to read I decided that I love this shirt, and am definitely going to try to get one come fall. They'll be giving them away to girls who participate in challenges, like going without makeup for a week, or not weighing themselves.
Since I don't own a scale I KNOW I can do that one at least.

And speaking of Beautiful, check out the lovely ladies:

7 Peaks!

2010-07-17T08:28:00.000-07:00

AHHH! 7 Peaks is a water park, which is full of fat white people and tan little babies and a billion teenagers trying to seduce each other AAAAND
YES! Becky and Travis who now have SEASON PASSES!

We got them for super cheap, because it's late in the season, and 7 Peaks is like a mile from our house, and now we can stop trying to break into Centennial to use their pool, and not feel guilty if we only go for an hour one day, and in fact, we can go for an hour every day and be tan and be refreshed (it is so freaking hot this summer) without having to pay 22$ EACH a day.

But you will not get 7 Peaks pictures, because I am not bringing my camera to a water park.

But if you have not seen it, imagine in your mind a Suesical Factory, with many crazy colored, striped and bizarrely twisted pipes running every which way.
Those pipes are slides.
And they are filled with the people I described above.

We went there last night.
I think the plan is to go for an hour or two every night.

We talk like this:

2010-07-16T08:20:00.000-07:00

(After a long conversation on whether or not a girl in our ward has masculine features)

"This makes me feel good about myself."

"You should always feel good about yourself, but not SO good that you leave me for another attractive man."

"I would never leave you for a more attractive man!"

"Did I say MORE? No. Equally attractive."

"I would never leave you for a more, less or equally attractive man."

"Less? I'm leaving you, Travis for a less attractive man. That makes no sense."

"On account of, whoever they are they probably wouldn't do the dishes because they know I hate dishes."

"Definitely not."

"Or be super cool."

"No way."

"Or taste like the ocean after basketball."

"Nope, that is a Travis-only feature."

"I believe it."

"You've heard of trophy husbands? I'm a collector's edition husband. For a limited time only, TRAVIS, who tastes like the ocean when he's sweaty."

This is us wearing Umbrella Hats on the 4th of July. Picture by Mom Pitcher.

A Very Harry Christmas

2010-07-15T07:44:00.000-07:00

I hope you are all happy to know that I am not dead.

The reason it has been a week and a half since my last posting is two-fold:

1. I promised you more pictures of Africa. and yet, since I've been home other things have been happening that I would rather write about. So I felt guilty writing about those things and obliged to write about Africa and then it became a chore.

So I will not write more about Africa now. (But here is a movie Trav made about our trip to Africa)

2. In the summer time I have a very specific schedule. I spend my time reading, knitting while listening to audiobooks, or biking to and from the grocery store to get fruit to eat while reading or knitting. Clearly there is no time in this schedule for blog-posting.

Oh, and I have a job.

But I don't like it.

But now I'm back and obviously the only thing I want to talk about is The Boy Who Lived.

Maybe you thought I didn't see it yet.

Maybe you thought I didn't spend several hours at the London Airport trying to get their internet to work sufficiently to stream video. (Heathrow Stinks!)

Maybe you thought I didn't immediately and quickly reread all the books in my excitement.

If you thought those things then you were wrong!

Bum bum bu-duh-bum bum buuuuuuuu-dum! (Hedwigs theme, duh)

My thoughts on the matter (since I know you crave them)

1. Doesn't Ron look grizzly with his half-beard? Yes.

2. Who the eff is that man on the train tracks?

3. Is that someone new playing Ollivander?
4. I LOVE that they have footage from both halves!
5. Why does Ron seem to be killing a snake? Neville DESERVES to kill that snake.
6. I LOVE that is says "A Motion Picture Event of a Generation."

Yes, my generation. I read the first book when I was 11. Every time I grew a year older, so did Harry. The first movie came out when I was 12 or 13.

I have literally been waiting almost TEN YEARS for this movie, and so have my peers. Little 12 and 13 year-olds can not claim this as their movie.

This is our movie.

The line outside the movie theater at midnight is going to be made up of college students and some children.

I am so freaking excited.

Also, if you're as big of a dork as I am, or if you love me, or if you have no plans for next weekend:

Harry Potter's Birthday Party (an annual celebration for some of us) is next Saturday the 31st.

We will have Butterbeer, Cauldron Cakes, and many other delicious Wizarding treats.

As well as a large group of people looking goofy in costumes.

And maybe a trivia game so you can win something cool, but I haven't decided.

And, of course, starting at about 9pm we'll be watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince projected on to our wall.

You are invited, whoever you are.

Call or text me for directions. (952.451.5076)

If you don't wear at least a semblance of a costume I will lose all respect for you. Even Travis agreed to "I dunno, I'll carry a wand. And maybe wear a cape."

Brown as an African

2010-07-06T08:25:00.000-07:00

I am not quite as brown as an African.
That is a fact especially clear when I am seen standing near to Africans.

And yet, Travis and I are both pretty brown, (helped along by yesterday's day at the lake.)
I promise pictures are to come, both from Africa and from this week since we've been home.
The ones from this week may include Travis and I in umbrella hats at the parade, a picture with our friends Cole and Suzie before they left for New York, and a group picture of the Pitchers at the parade.

But I am at work now, so I don't have all my pictures.

I wanted to share one of my theories about the fourth of July:

The things we do to celebrate the fourth of July are a smaller version of the things we love as Americans.

For example: We go to parades.
Americans (I'm stereotyping now, don't get all huffy) like useless but pretty things that are just for show. Americans like showing off what they've done or can do. Americans like sitting around and watching things happen without being involved.

We ride carnival rides.
Americans like to do things that are risky or exciting or scary, just to prove that they can. Americans like to have exorbitant amounts of fun, (even to the extent that they may not actually be having fun - Calvin and Hobbes, anyone?)

We wear costumes/dress the same as our whole family.
Americans LOVE costumes. Haven't you ever been to a city? or a marathon? And those grumpy middle-aged men who can't be talked into a costume still wear the same blue American-flag bedecked Old Navy t-shirt as all of their kids and as their wife under the pretense of... keeping together? Americans have some of the most boring clothes as well as the most useless income, so the need for costumes makes perfect sense. (When I say useless income I mean, after paying for the necessities there is still money left... what should we spend it on? Costumes, of course.)

We wave flags, shout out the constitution, and dress very patriotically.
Because even Americans who claim to hate the USA can't help but be ethnocentric.... I mean.... patriotic.

Okay, I'm done.
Happy 6th of July.
And happy independence day.

28 days in Africa

2010-07-02T09:40:00.000-07:00

A picture for every day?

And maybe a story for each one.

Oh, blast. You know I've just realized that I have at least one CF Card at home with morepictures on it. Things like giant anthills, and Freddy the Boda-Boda driver, our cook Edith, and pregnant Aberforth, and Travis trying to eat sugar cane and feed Nutella to the goats (which they didn't like at all.)

So here are 25 pictures for now, and nope, they are no longer in order:

aaaand, I still can't crop. So if they look like they ought to be horizontal then click for the full picture.

It would seem wrong to start this photo flood with a picture of someone besides Osito. Unfortunately, you can't see him unless you click on the picture.

So Osito was one of our drivers. He told us he was 26, but he also said he thought he was born in 1987. So we don't know how old he is.

Osito has, as he mournfully told me the first time we met, "never even touched an aeroplane," yet his greatest ambition is to be a famous singer in America. If he becomes a famous singer in America then he will send his giant fortune to a Kilifi orphanage.

This is a picture he asked me to take to go on the cover of his Demo Cd.

If you are wondering, Osito's "band" is really a small gospel choir.

He is not the main singer, but intends to be the only one photographed for their cover.

Oh Osito, I love you. But you also drove me nearly crazy.
This is Squeegee, our favorite wiggly skinny little puppy. He did have fleas, but we still let him in our room and I carried him around quite a bit.

I couldn't help it. Have you ever seen such a cute little guy? He is also the puppy that I mentioned being harassed by monkeys in Kilifi. I'm glad to say that he is still alive and well.
This is my cute husband filming a burning pile of trash.

First, imagine the worst smell you have ever smelled.

Now set it on fire.

There isn't a garbage system in Kenya (or most of Africa, I think.) So people throw their garbage in the woods, or if that's too big of a pain, they burn it.
This is Kilifi! Doesn't it look just perfect?

Yes, the picture below is also Kilifi, combine them into a rural and gorgeous town and you got Kilifi.

This picture was taken from the BoatYard, a little tourist restaurant that served absurdly delicious crab samosas, while you sat with your feet in perfect white sand, shaded by palm trees, and looked out at the sun setting over the Indian Ocean.

Can we talk about ideal? This was our special treat for our last day in Kenya.

We went with our friends Leah and Rajiv, our personal Kenyan tour guides, they introduced us to our favorite parts of Kilifi, like the people, and the alleyway market, and --of course-- crab samosas.
This is Osito again, in front of his Tuk Tuk. It's basically a motorized rig-shaw. He would drive us around town in it for super cheap.

I said to him, "Osito, can I take your picture in the Tuk Tuk so my family can see what it looks like?"

"Of course, of course!" he said

So I took a picture of him sitting in the Tuk Tuk seat.

"One more," he said, and he got out and crouched down next to the front.

"Another?" he asked, posing in the above position.

"Would it trouble you to take just one more?" he asked.

A dozen photos later and I am confident that I have pictures of both Osito and the Tuk Tuk from nearly every angle.

We had a bonfire on the beach one night and it was a blast. Luckily Rajiv and Travis were both boy scouts or we never would have gotten the fire started it was so windy! We ended up all crouched and huddled around it, holding a blanket over our heads to block the wind. When the papers and sticks finally caught fire my eyebrows (and everyone else's) were nearly burned off.

Lots of teeny tiny crabs (think nickel-sized) would venture near to see the fire, but become frightened and try to scurry away.

But the boys kept herding the scuttling little guys into the fire where they would scream, start to bubble, and then die.

Then the boys would pull the crab out and eat it! they said it was pretty good, but I was too squeamish to have a bite.

I think this monkey is in the Nairobi airport, although I assure you they were everywhere.

The guards in the airport absolutely hated them, but they kept sneaking in somehow.

This is Osito's band. Can you see him back there?

We have his cd if you would like a copy, and if you are feeling generous I think Osito would love to get a few US dollars in the mail.

He might even donate it to a near-by orphanage.

This picture was taken in Uganda at one of HELP Internationals Eye Camps. HELP pays for doctors and nurses who come to very rural places and give out free eye glasses and perform dozens of cataract surgeries.

Travis made good friends with the man above and followed him through the whole procedure.

He spoke very good English for living somewhere so rural.

This is us at the NILE river. We were right near the head of it, visiting some pretty little falls.

I have never been anywhere that is mentioned in the Bible, and I know it was silly, and we were very far from Egypt, but it was a very neat experience to see the Nile.

I just kept thinking about Moses, and after I thought of that (of course) I felt the need to take off my shoes.

And then I finally understood (I think) how sweet it was for Christ to wash the apostles feet. Since every day we came home and our feet were dirty and sweaty and aching, but mostly dirty, and I would have to sit down in our disgusting cold shower and try to rub my feet semi-clean.

And sitting there at the Nile with water washing over my feet just felt so heavenly.
This man is at another Eye Camp.

Travis took this picture.

Isn't it gorgeous?

This is me.

This is our driver Peter, who, if you've read other posts in Africa you will know was a very good friend.

When we were in Uganda he actually called us and once I was on the phone said "Becky, please. I miss you so much. Please, please return to Kenya."

"I would like to," I said.

"Then please come back. Come back now if you can."

It's nice to have friends who want you to visit.
Remember when we broke down in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Kenya.

We took some pretty long-exposure shots.

You seriously wouldn't believe the stars you can see in Africa.
Remember when the Kenyan women couldn't stop laughing at me? They helped me tie my skirt and then babbled on in Swahili and then laughed until they cried?

These are a few from the group. The girl in the black and green is the one who finally helped me.
This is a photo from when Rajiv and Leah and Travis and I had dinner with Kadzo and Bahati and they gave me my Kenyan name and then showed us their farm --which we would have destroyed if they let us keep working on it.

These are the mud huts they live in and you can see their make-shift tables and communal plates.

It was perfect. I want to do it again.

Today.
This is Elvis, Bahati's baby. All of the babies (and I even saw children who were at least three r four) are carried around like this. The fabric used is the same fabric they use as skirts (Kangas) and often the woman will wear a skirt that matches her baby-carrier.

This is Kadzo and Bahati laughing at someone (I think Leah) trying to hoe.

Don't be fooled though, they laughed much harder when I tried to hoe.

Repeatedly they took the hoe away from me and tried to reshow me how it's done.

And repeatedly I failed.

This is just a little baby tree.

And little baby me.

Some Children

2010-07-02T09:18:00.000-07:00

I have separated photos out into several categories the first category is African Children, aka the cutest human beings on the planet.

You know those ads of crying skinny little Africans with big dark watery eyes?

They've all got big eyes, and unlike American kids they often look solemnly at the camera rather than grinning.

And if you happen to catch one of them falling down, or stubbing their toes then BAM! a sad watery eyed face that you can use in your ad about donating money. (Other than shots and one time when Monica fell down, I never saw a single child cry [Monica is the last photo, isn't she sweet?])

Anyway, I love these little guys.

Here are some of my favorite children/pictures:

hmmm, I'm having a hard time cropping things, so some of these are very goofy. But you get the gist.

There's no place like home

2010-07-01T09:27:00.000-07:00

We're home.

I nearly cried when I saw our bed.

Luckily for you, this means that I will start posting pictures like crazy.

But not quite yet.

First, I am going to unpack.

And do some laundry.

And some grocery planning and shopping.

And eat some more strawberries (hallelujah!)

And open all the windows.

And catch up on blogs.

And go on a bike ride.

Mmmm... it is so good to be here.

You know how everyone's house has a smell, but you can never smell your own?

When we came in our door last night there were a few minutes where Travis and I just stood and smelled.

After a long trip, you learn what you smell like to other people.

Like old musty houses. Like sugar and honey. Like pages and pages of books.

I wish I could still smell it now, but I think the fact that I can't is okay.

This is our home.

Oh, I love it like mad.

Uganda

2010-06-26T16:02:00.000-07:00

We're leaving Uganda. In one half hour a man will be here to pick us and our luggage up and take us to the airport.
So I will be quick. I think you deserve at least one decent blog post while we're here, no?
This is what Uganda is like: No INTERNET.
But other than that... here are three stories to help you picture Uganda, treat them as individual blog posts and remember, in a mere three days I will have Internet good enough to post PICTURES online for you.

Story One; Chicken Eating Ants
Everywhere in Uganda there are tall (sometimes 10 feet tall!) red mounds of dirt as though some one dug a gigantic hole and piled up everything that came out. Having read the Posionwood Bible these mounds terrified me and I assumed that they were gigantic ant-hills.
After I finally asked about them I was told that not only was I correct, but that our cook said that when they all come out they could eat a live chicken.
The night after I was told this was a very scary night. Travis and I have been sleeping on a mat-thing on the garage floor of our house. As I prepared for bed I saw what could only be described as a CHICKEN-EATING ant. He was freaking gigantic, walking calming towards my side of the bed.
In a daring act of bravery I smashed the ant (which was as long as half my pinky) with our sunscreen bottle repeatedly. It proceeded to release the worst-smelling poison (I'm SURE it was poison) in to the air making it even more impossible to sleep.
Why was it already impossible? you ask.
Here are three good reasons:
1. We live next-door to a piggery and can hear pigs screaming all night long as they are slowly killed with a blunt knife.
2. We were given a chicken as a "gift" and he does not only crow at sunrise. I would describe his crowing as insanely loud and occurring every 15 minutes.
3. There are two goats on our land too. One of whom (Aberforth) is very pregnant. If I had not seen her sans-baby the next morning I would assume that all of her human-like screaming was due to the pain of giving birth. Guess what? That treat is still to come.

Oh, and our cook finally told us today that the ant-hills are filled with delicious crickets... not ants.

Story Two; The Orphan Choir
On Monday we were asked to join a few HELP Intern. volunteers as they went to listen to the Orphan Choir in Kyini. We were to record music for them that they could hopefully sell. I was prepared for the same sort of children that we often see here: Happy laughing children in matching but shabby uniforms sing songs of welcome and simple pleasures.
I was not prepared for a small group of 15 students who sang songs abut AIDS, death, loneliness, the possibility that God did not exist and other horrible things, all while many of them wept themselves.
If that were not enough, the director of the Orphanage kept a running commentary. "That girl who is crying, her last parent died on Saturday. That girl in the yellow, she is HIV positive. That boy there, he is thirteen and is caring for 4 younger siblings on his own." Besides that, we met another woman who was caring for her own children and the children of her deceased brothers and sisters, 27 kids all told.
Travis and I had to have a serious discussion about adopting a child. Leaving them seemed too heartless.
People on buses, have actually asked me if I would take their child for them. All of the girls here have had babies thrust on them and been begged by desperate adults who cannot feed all their siblings children to take the baby back to America and raise it.
I was prepared, I think, for Annie. I was not prepared for actual orphans. It was the hardest day I've yet experienced in Africa.

Time is running short. Here is the third story.

Story Three; Freddy the Boda-Boda Driver
Today our friend Freddy's wife had a baby. She is a beautiful little girl (but little might not be the right word, she was nearly 10 pounds!) After driving Travis around this morning on his Boda-boda (motorcycle) to film around Mukono Freddy came back to pick me up to take us to his new house and make a video for Mr. Clint and Tammy, some of our mutual friends.
Throughout the tour of the house (which you can all see soon enough) Freddy would add "I love Mr. Clint so much," or "It is all to Mr. Clint that I have this," or my favorite: "I wish Mr. Clint to stay here one week, seven days and six nights and every day he will give me a new idea. I could use seven new ideas."
It seems that Clint gave Freddy his first lessons in business, teaching his valuable but uncommon ideas like "Spend money on what you need, not what you want."
Ever since they came 8 years ago, Freddy has worked on changing his life around. He works hard, and saves money. He can send his children to school, and now is building a new house. (If any of you are interested in helping Freddy, he's trying to earn money now for a water tank, about 400 USD.)
After the tour of his house and the meeting of his three sons and adopted daughter (his sister's) Freddy took us back to see his new wife and baby who were still at the hospital. Despite having been in several hospital-type places here I couldn't help but think "At least there will be an indoor toilet there. I've got to go."
We arrived at the hospital by traveling down a thin dirt-path (treacherous for motorcycles) and arrived at a shabby building no different from any other. There was an uneven dirt floor with an open ceilinged court. There was trash littered everywhere and a dozen doors leading to private rooms.
Private rooms without electricity, water, special beds for babies, without ice chips, without nurses to get you things, without even a fan or a real pillow for the new mother. They had to bring their own sheets for the bed.
I can't believe I expected her to have her own bathroom.
A legit bathroom.
Freddy told us the medical bills would cost 50000 shillings (25 dollars) so he had to go back to work.
We said, It is customary to give gifts when a baby is born in America. Stay with your wife today.
And helped him pay the doctor's fee.
I feel a little guilty, perpetrating the whites have money to spare stereotype.
But not very much.
That baby deserved to have both parents there. She was so stinking cute.

And that is all. Tomorrow we will be in London.
Wednesday we will be home.

Wish us luck, we love you

We're here

2010-06-19T07:04:00.000-07:00

So we're in Uganda.

So far, I have to admit it... I prefer Kenya,

But I may be biased because in Kenya we had a bed, hot water, a full kitchen to cook in and only three roommates. Here we have 19 roommates in a house half the size. And 16 of them are unmarried sophomore girls.

But we have been having fun, and being sure to take many many pictures.

Today we visited the Nile.

It was very awesome.

Yesterday we went to school and talked with the students and built an adobe stove (until rain shut down the country... even though the kids were already in school they stopped teaching when the rain started.)

I would like to write more but we're being charged by the half hour and I have to go.

Kuzungu

2010-06-16T19:20:00.000-07:00

literally means "Little mzungu"

I think they gave Travis his name as a joke.

Kadzo, who gave me her name has a husband named Kuzungu. So she named Travis after him.
It is usually given to men who work with mzungus.
Like a taunting nick name, I think. Kuzungu! Little White Man.

I love it.

Especially since I would never describe Trav as little.

Uganda!

2010-06-16T01:59:00.000-07:00

Can you believe it?
It's our last day in Kenya. I still can't totally take it in, but we've been here two weeks already.
Tomorrow we'll get on a plane for Uganda, where we'll stay for 8 days, and then off to England for 2 days (Oxford, hurrah!)
And then home, where I'll be thrust into the second week of summer school and work.

And suddenly I realized that we took dozens of hours of video footage and like... 6 pictures.
So today I'm trying to fill my camera.

Maybe I'll put on different shirts every few hours so it doesn't look like we were only in Kenya one day.

And friends at home... STOP.
Do not get married without me. Do not get engaged without me. Do not up and leave forever to New York without me.
Too many things are happening there that I don't want to miss.

I keep waking up very distressed by my dreams.
A dream where Suzie says they're leaving before we get back and we'll never see them again.
A dream where both the Haggen girls get married, but a terrifying Gollum-type creature tries to sabotage them and kill their new husbands.
A dream where a friend at home gets engaged and decides to get married while we're still in Africa.

I do not approve of all this. Just pause all activities at home until I can come back and be a part of them.
Deal?

Then I don't have to make Travis come snuggle me since I wake up suddenly and find that I'm crying.
I miss you all.
And I will try to write as soon as I can, but who knows what the internet in Uganda is like?

love
becky

Corruption in the police force!

2010-06-15T22:55:00.000-07:00

…is actually kind of bizarre to me. Twice Peter has been pulled over while driving us since a carful of mzungus (according to a police officer himself) can afford to pay a fine. They usually ask for a small bribe, like 50 or a100 shillings.
But Sunday in Mombasa a cop pulled us over.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“We’re going to the city,” Rajiv said. “And we are in a hurry. What is the problem?”
“I have no problem with you,” said the cop. “No problem with any of you, my problem is with the driver.”
“What did Peter do?” I asked.
“Oh, he knows what he has done.”
Then the cop made Rajiv get out of the front seat and squeeze into the back with the other three of us (and we were already too crowded) and he sat in the front.
“I need your driver to take me to the police station,” he said. “Only for one minute.”
“We’re in a hurry,” Rajiv said again, “Can’t we take care of the problem here?”
”Oh no,” he said, “Take me to the station.”
Then he and Peter talked in Swhili (while Travis recorded it on his small camera) and Peter would laugh occasionally, but it sounded forced… like he was told to laugh.
The cop turned and said “Where are you from?”
“America,” aid Rajiv.
“OBAMA!” The cop yelled. “I am Obama.”
“Your name is Obama?” I asked.
“No, my name is Michael, but I am from the same tribe as Obama,” said the cop.
“What is your tribe name?” Leah asked (like a last name) and Michael told us and we recorded it for future use.
The cop spoke to Peter again in Swahili and then asked us, “So you are students, not tourists?”
“No,” said Rajiv. “We are students and we are volunteers in Kilifi for Komaza. You know Komaza?”
“Yes,” said the cop. “I am from Kilifi and Peter and I are old friends.”
The cop saw the camera. “NO PICTURES!” He yelled and tried to take the camera.
Travis held it out of his reach. “I didn’t take your picture.”
“Give it to me,” the cop said. “Do not take my picture. Did you take my picture?!”
“No,” said Travis. But then the cop was distracted and we quickly towed the camera out of sight.
When we got to the station the cop got out and went inside with Peter. Rajiv followed and returned a minute later to say the cop wanted a 500 shilling bribe or he would arrest Peter.
Leah paid it, because mzungus can afford to, but Peter could not have afforded it.
Peter told us later that the cop had never lived in Kilifi and did not know Peter. He had told Peter that he pulled us over because we were a car of rich white mzungus and he asked for so high a bribe because he could not be sure to see us again.
The mutatus (buses) are usually fined 50 or 100 shillings, but the cops ask for so little because they see them so often and can get a 100 shilling bribe every day.
The cop told Peter he needed us to take him to the Police Station because the other cops could back him up, but outside in the city someone could take his picture (haha!) or the “Corruption Police” could see him.
Apparently the Corruption Police are always trying to find corrupted police officers and arrest them.
I wasn’t actually totally clear on that.

Anyway, I live in Gotham City.
Batman Out.

Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy

2010-06-14T22:54:00.000-07:00

is not our strong suit in Africa.
But, family, before you become upset please know that if we hadn’t gone shopping all day yesterday then you would not get any of the sweet presents that we’re bringing home to you.
Think about that when you receive them.
Or don’t. That might make you appreciate them less.

Anyway, our schedule yesterday was this:
In the morning we got up bright and early and put on some Sunday-type clothes. (We seriously looked like homeless people compared to the Kenyans in their white shirts and ties.)
And we drove the hour and a half to Mombassa to go to church. We were joined by three friends who left with Books of Mormon (of course). The Mombasa LDS branch was wonderful. It was comprised mainly by relatively newly-converted Africans and like three white people from Utah.
The talks were very sweet and powerful, and everyone excitedly asked us, “Will you be here next week? Are you here to stay?”
It was disappointing to say no. I like those small tight-knit groups of Mormons. It’s more like what I’m used to.
Afterwards we went to lunch and then out for some mmmmm! authentic and delicious Italian Gelati. It was JUST the thing in all that heat. I got strawberry and coconut and it tasted so fruity and sweet.
We spent a few hours after that exploring Mombasa, since it was our only chance (tomorrow is our last day in Kenya! WHAT?!) and bought some really cool things for our family, and (need I say it?) ourselves. I am the best at talking people down from the high prices they ask of us, if I do say so myself.
The trick, as our friend Rajiv so nicely put it: “Do not want the things you are trying to buy.”
Most conversations go like this:
Me: What is the price of this necklace?
Kenyan: 1,500 shillings. (that’s almost 20 US dollars!)
Me: Oh. [put the necklace back]
Kenyan: You do not want it?
Me: No, it costs too much.
Kenyan: It is Sunday, so I give it to you for 1,200 shillings.
Me: No, I can’t pay so much. I can only pay 500.
Kenyan: No, no! 800.
Me: Two for 800?
Kenyan: No, no. One for 800.
Me: That’s okay. I will not buy it. I will look elsewhere.
Kenyan: No, no. 500 shillings.

SCORE!
But 500 shillings for a necklace is still absurd. People were literally giving things away to Peter, saying “Thank you for bringing me customers, rafiki.”
When he asked the price for a necklace like the one I had to fight for they said 300 shillings and he could then fight them down to 200.
That’s less than three times what I paid.
I’m sick of the mzungu-price. Peter often explains (in Swahili) “These are my friends, they are not rich tourists, they are students. They are making a movie for Komaza.” He’s really the best bargainer we have. He can often get them to accept the “Local price,” reserved for Kenyans only.

After a long hot day of haggling (all while wearing clothes, despite my awful sunburn) I got very sick driving home. I went straight to bed, at about 5:30, but had to get up to babysit soon after.
Travis was recording a demo CD for another of our Kenyan drivers, Osito. His whole band was there, including a couple with two small girls. Beatrice, 5 and Abigail whom Beatrice said was 3, but whom I suspect was only 1 or 2.
At first they were very shy and Abigail would cry whenever I or another mzungu looked at or spoke to her. Neither of them spoke English. I haltingly told them my name, and asked theirs. And soon we were playing like with any 5 year-old.
I would chase Beatrice and tickle her and then let her escape and she would laugh and squeal. Then I turned on some music and we danced until I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. (she loved Abba and Beyonce) She sat me down and sang to me in Swahili. She would raise her arms above her head and close her eyes dramatically. Then open them and march and dance around the room singing. It was so much like my own 5 year-old sister Kathryn.
It’s easy to think that I’m different from the Kenyans, but when we play with the kids its SO clear that they’re all just kids, even if they grew up in a mud hut. The kids here are the same as the kids anywhere.
Beatrice also LOVED ice and we had a freezer full. I got myself a cup of ice water and plunked a cube into her glass and after that she was hooked. She pulled out an entire tray of half-frozen ice and (with a spoon) quickly ate every piece.
After that, she would walk sneakily to the freezer every few minutes and pull open the freezer. If I didn’t come help her get a piece of ice she would spend a few minutes touching every cube, trying to pry it out.
I showed her we could take her picture and she was quick to figure out how to use photobooth on my laptop. (Amazing, right? It was like nothing she’d ever seen, but even she totally understood it. Kids blow my mind.)
Later Eve joined us. She is a Kenyan and good friend of Osito’s, but she works for the Government and has very good English and a WAY nicer car than any of our American friends. She stuck a DVD of gospel music videos into my computer and it was hilarious to see Beatrice and Abigail’s reactions. They both knew every single line in every song and stared at the computer screen, singing along and dancing.
They could not be distracted.
It was great. After a while our other roommates came home and our friend Leah came over and we all talked and played. Leah brought some warm, freshly made banana bread and it was delicious! I may or may not have eaten half of it myself.
The Kenyan girls didn’t like it very much, but they were more than happy to eat a bowlful of the spaghetti noodles and lentils that we had for dinner.
And by the end of the evening, Abigail still didn’t want me to hold her, but she happily held my hand when we went to find her Mama after the recording and waved saying “Bye, Bye, Bye!” when they left.
All in all, I was exhausted when I went to bed…
but happy.
It was definitely our best weekend in a long time.

Sunburn on Saturday

2010-06-14T22:51:00.000-07:00

Sunburn is not as I’d always believed.
I used to think that I had been sunburned. You know, your shoulders get pinkish brown, and your cheeks look like you’re wearing make-up, but you’re not.
Sometimes it’s a bit sore for a few hours.
And it’s warm to the touch.
And it fades beautifully into a tan.

People with pink skin instead of olive skin would complain, my sister Mary used to cry, and I would laugh and say to them “Sunburn is not so bad. You are so whiney. Just wear your swimsuit top until it isn’t sore to touch.”
I have got mine.
The sun has tortured me for mocking its powers.
Or else I accidently slept on top of a hot stove instead of a bed. The feelings are, I suspect, the same.
Remember when, just a few days ago, I said I was sunburned?
I take it back!
I was not crispy bacon. I was pleased with my sunburn because within a day it was a tan. Now several days after the real sunburning I cannot wear clothes, or sleep on my back, and I feel constantly nauseous.
Mostly I try to hide in my room.
I even stayed home today while Travis went to spend the day filming. I am a sick and whiney unhelpful little wife.
In my defense, I cannot (of course) be blamed. Having never used sunblock and also having never been sunburned I may have thought my skin invincible (except to mosquitoes). But because of the pharmacist’s warning, I knew I could maybe possibly potentially somehow get burned.
So I handed Travis the sunblock and said “Not too much on my back. I want to get tan today.”
Clearly the blame is with the pharmacist who should have been clearer and my husband who did not seek to warn me, having quite pink skin himself.
Anyway, are you wondering what I was doing to get sunburned yet?
I was sea kayaking on the Indian Ocean.
Besides the (literally) vomit inducing sea sickness I experienced and the grotesque after effects of horrific sunburn, it was quite a fun experience.
The water was clear and turquoise and we (mostly Travis) paddled out deep by the reef where the waves broke and there was no seaweed (Seaweed could be aptly named Becky’s Bane… so could mosquitoes or sunburn, though.)
And we jumped in and swam about.
Good news, there were no sharks, sea snakes or electric eels. It was really relaxing and neat. The water was warm, super super warm, but not too warm that it wasn’t refreshing to jump in.
Afterwards we went out for chicken curry and sandwiches and gathered with other mzungus at a resort to watch the USA versus England. I might have fallen asleep two minutes into the game, but it probably just angered all the Brits there even more. America doesn’t even care about football and yet WE TIED!
Craziness.
Anyway, that was Saturday.
And I’m still reaping the consequences today.
I might go do some good ol’ sun sickness vomiting now.
Take care and wear sunblock.
Becky

African Boy Travis

2010-06-11T03:12:00.001-07:00

If Travis were littler and browner it would be easy to mistake him for a little African boy. He spends a great deal of time barefooted, running around, and playing football (you know... soccer).
All this might not convince you, if he wasn't also almost always surrounded by a dozen or more children.
They LOVE him.
The picture above was taken by Matt, another Komaza employee, at a school we were filming at. Travis spent almost the whole time filming the kids, and then replaying the footage for them to see.
And, exactly like the American children who we know love to see themselves on film, these kids couldn't get enough of it.
Remember this picture from Trav's blog? He would run, and they would follow.

Then, of course, they wanted to watch themselves running.

He's reading over my shoulder and I'm going to make him leave so I can talk more about him.
Good, now it's just us... you and me, blog world.

I am reminded every day how absolutely crazy madly in love with Travis I am. He is so good and patient and kind, and smart, and unbelievably hard working. (I notice that the most in Africa. Take a break! I actually have to beg him to stop overworking himself.)
Our driver Peter has noted many, many times to how humble Travis is. "You are not like other Americans," Peter said.
"They are so rich and prideful and they think they can have whatever they want here. They use harsh and vulgar language, but your husband is so humble. He is a real Christian man, always trying to do so much good to everyone he meets."

Everyday that we go out into the field to work Peter drives us and he always says, "Please do not work so hard as yesterday. You will be too tired. You are overworking."
And when I give up and sit in the car to rest he says, "You are a lucky woman, he will always take care of you. He works so hard. As long as he has time for you, and not just work, you will always be happy."

And let me assure you, Travis has time for me. He makes time for me. He is so unbelievably good to me.
The people here at Komaza are all Americans, most older than me, close to Trav's age. For the most part I think they don't want to be married, at least for a long time.

And I think, You fools.
Being married is awesome. You have someone to take care of you, and for you to take care of. You have someone to love for the rest of forever. You have someone to go with you when you go on an adventure into Africa so you aren't alone.
And when you shimmy down under the sheets and say you cannot fall asleep for fear of the devil's evil monster mosquitoes which you hate (grrrr!) you can have a husband who will cover you and the bed in bug spray and then carefully pin every hole in the netting close and then kill all the mosquitoes who come near you.
Even though its a pain.

And even though you now taste disgusting to kiss, because of the bug spray, he'll probably still kiss you goodnight.

And then he'll let you sleep by the fan.
And he'll let you sleep on his half of the bed, snuggled up despite the heat.
And he'll let you sleep in and then get up and make you breakfast in bed.

And because its meager, he'll probably sprinkle sugar ON your peanut butter toast.
Which is divine and unhealthy.

But let me restate: It is only great to have a husband if he is amazingly fantastic and perfect.

Which Travis is.

I saw an ELEPHANT!

2010-06-11T03:08:00.000-07:00

PSYCH!
That was a really sweet trick I just pulled.

No I have not seen an Elephant.

yet...

We're still alive!

2010-06-10T04:30:00.000-07:00

But our internet is rarely alive.

We have to come in to the office to use the internet (which sometimes doesn't work) because the internet at our house is out, perhaps eternally.
And it's hard for us to come in to the office since most days we get up early and go out filming in towns an hour or two away.

Two nights ago (Tuesday night) we drove out to Ganze (remember the town with the bumpy road to it?) and we spent the night at a farmer's house. They didn't have running water, electricity, much food, and they didn't speak English.
But it all turned out okay.
It was very beautiful nonetheless. Look at Trav's blog for photos.
They're swweeeet!
It'll blow your mind.

Love you,
Kadzo

Click on this, and all the pictures on Trav's blog.

Kadzo

2010-06-10T04:28:00.000-07:00

Monday was a good day.

Sadly, most of the Komaza people hang out in their own houses and offices or sometimes go to the farms, but otherwise see little of the Kenyan people.
Two of our friends here, called Rajiv and Leah spend a lot of time with the Kenyans that live across the street from one of the Komaza houses. In a semi-circle of mud huts is a group of women and children (and sometimes –rarely—men) usually just sitting, cooking and talking.
When we walk by the children wave and yell Picha! Picha! (Swahili for Photograph). Among them are the kids I posted pictures of earlier. They love the camera and Travis and I would take turns taking their picture and then showing it to them. After Travis showed them he could record video they went CRAZY.
They were running, cartwheeling, jumping, dancing, singing and then running back to see what we’d filmed. They would laugh until they cried.
We brought some dinner over to the huts today and ate with Leah (who they call Leann) and Raj (who they call Safari) and two of the women from the huts.
We had lentils and stewed greens and this cream-of-wheat like corn mush.

It was actually quite good.
They speak as much English as I speak Swahili and our friends only spoke broken Swahili, so it was quite the experience.
Afterwards they asked us to their Shamba (a small personal farm) and a large group of Kenyans gathered to laugh and watch as the Mzungus tried to weed with the hoe they gave us.
We worked with them for about an hour, but we weren’t really “working” the whole time. We played with the kids (who often spoke bett
I learned all of the kids names, but have forgotten a few already (I’m sure I spelled them wrong):
Safari
Mapensee
Monika
Amani
Elvis
Riziki
Calvin
Sangalee
Sareef
Hamasi
Salema
Zambo

I don’t remember the rest.

They tried to learn our names and I constantly asked, Do you remember who I am?

They would all think very hard for a minute and then one would yell PICK! Someone else would say Picky! Then they would say Pick, Pick, Picky!
Beeecky, I would say.
Baaaach? They would repeat confused.
Ndyo!
Bick? Pick! Picky!

They can say and remember Travis, but when I pass they yell Jambo Pick!

I said to Calvin (he is 11 and has the best English) Do you call me Mzungu?
He said, oh no! we call you your name, Pick. Jambo Pick!
Everyone laughed and they yelled Jambo, Jambo Pick!

The women cannot say Becky either, or Rebeccah. So they gave me a Swahili name, it is Kadzo, the name of one of the women there.

They say they will give Travis his Swahili name tomorrow, too. They haven’t decided on one yet.

My name means Beauty, but they also told me that sometimes people just have names like Beauty, but they are not Beautiful.
I wonder if they were trying to tell me it is only a name, and it doesn’t mean they think I am beautiful. Haha, I don’t know.

Being Mormon

2010-06-06T08:17:00.000-07:00

I forget what it’s like to be a Mormon.
I forget that we’re different, peculiar even, anywhere outside of Utah.
In Provo I’m just another leaf on the tree, and believing in Christ doesn’t set me apart, it helps me blend in.

But I am different.
Here I feel it.
All our friends go out and have a glass of wine at dinner, and we don’t. They ask us why.
Travis says he lived in Argentina for two years on a mission trip and they ask why.
They say, get used to a lot of handshakes in Kenya and we say, we’re very good at handshaking because of our own culture. Why?
We say, Oh, we’re mormons.

I forget that it comes up every single day outside of Utah. And that saying “We’re mormons” isn’t enough because then they want to know:

Do you eat any barley or is it just beer you don’t drink? Do you drink caffeine? Are you against birth control? What exactly makes you different from other Christian religions? Do they just send you out on missions with a Bible and a good luck?
Our Muslim friend asked about our schedule and beliefs concerning prayer.
An agnostic friend wanted to discuss the nature of God and the spirit of the law, versus the letter of the law.
And after I was feeling a little guilty, like maybe they’re all sick of hearing about our beliefs or they feel like we’re judging them for drinking one girl said “I’m glad that you came, even for just two weeks. Before you came God was just a running joke. I didn’t feel like I could keep my religion here. ”

And a line of scripture came to me. Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.
And I thought, I cannot stop being a mormon, or toning down my mormon-ness to make people feel more comfortable. I need to remind them, even if just through my own belief that God is real, that someone out there cares about them.
It's weird to think that maybe me being more makes people feel less uncomfortable.

I guess that’s what I miss most in Utah. I miss feeling like God can use me for something.
If he needs a tool in Provo to work a miracle or save a soul or just say a kindly word, he has hundreds of people to do it. People more qualified than me.
But in Kilfi, if he wants someone to feel like maybe it’s okay to be a Christian, or be reminded that there is a greater power than them in the world, or just discuss and ponder God…
he can use me.

My bishop isn’t here, my good roommates aren’t here, my entire University isn’t here.

Only I am.

And I like when it’s only me. Or, you know, me and Travis. Because that’s when I remember that we aren’t like other people and we don’t want to be.

We want to be like Christ.

Mormon.org

Larger than Life

2010-06-06T02:40:00.000-07:00

Everything is bigger in Texas.
But Kenya is bigger than Texas, so things here are bigger than things in Texas.
Today I bought two mangoes for 20 shillings each (like 30cents) and they're the size of three or four good-sized mangoes found in America.
They're like the sized of a small child's head.

The sun is definitely bigger and man! it can take it out of you. It just presses down all day. No wonder the African people have such dark skin. Put a sad little white girl out here and she looks like a piece of over-cooked bacon.
Travis made up a name for the shirt that it looks like I'm wearing when I'm naked. But I'm not allowed to tell you it.
I've said too much already.

The snakes are bigger in Kenya. At least, bigger than the snakes in Minnesota which are little and harmless. But Green Mambas are not harmless, nor are they a delicious candy treat. They're a common threat that I am now terrified of. I walk heavily and slowly on grass paths so that maybe I'll squash one if I accidentally step on it.

The monkeys here are bigger than the monkeys in the USA. (Non-existent) and they have have huge bright blue balls, which I find to be a very funny thing. I have seen them now. Maybe a dozen. I love them and want them to live with me, but I also fear that they are deceptively adorable and maybe actually are super mean and evil.

The bugs are bigger and the bug-bites more frequent. At least for me. NO ONE else that I talk to has had any bug trouble. I have about forty bug bites and YES I wear bug spray constantly. I get up in the middle of the night in a paranoid mosquito night terror and put more bug spray on, even though I'm in netting.
In fact, I've had a really hard time sleeping and wake up every few hours convinced that mosquitoes are all over me and they I lie there itching myself until I fall into fitful mosquito dreams.

The trees are bigger in Kenya. They are the size of jumbo 12 man tents. Like... maybe a dozen jumbo 12 man tents piled on top of each other.
That's the best comparison I can think of.

Hey family, I wish you were online right now. Why don't you get up in the wee hours of the night?

Ganze, Kenya

2010-06-05T02:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday our car broke down.
Or rather, the car we were riding in broke down. In order to reach Ganze, a small town an hour away from where we live, where many Komaza farmers live, we had to hire a car to take us. It was a 1980s BMW.
It broke down twice on the way there, but was easily fixed. The front right tire went flat, but after a half hour was changed. And on the way home, in the dark, it broke down for real.
We were stranded for a short time in the absolute middle of nowhere with all of our several hundred pounds of equipment and absolutely nothing else but sunscreen and empty water bottles.
Our driver Peter called a mechanic and a half hour later he arrived on a motorcycle. After fifteen minutes and a bit of Travis’s Gaffing Tape, the problem had been solved and we headed home.
The problem: the bumpy dirt road had bounced the car to the extent that multiple wires had come out in the engine. Once taped back in, we were good to go.
The road was that bumpy. It was so bumpy that I usually felt like my teeth were chattering, but sometimes felt like my jaw and spine were broken and just swinging and bouncing freely.
Technically in Kenya you drive on the left side of the road, but I think they just drive wherever it looks least bumpy. Sometime we were literally driving with two tires in the ditch, two feet down from the road. There were children walking to and from school during most of the day (morning-to school, lunchtime- to and then from, evening from school) and when they saw cars come by they would scream and run off the road.
Yes, I think drivers really are that bad.
After they were safely up the mound on the other side of the ditch they would stare after us wide-eyed, until we waved. Then they would wave and shout “Jambo Mzungu!” or sometimes “Sweets? Sweets?” We passed one girl, probably 8 or 9, who turned just in time to see us. I waved and she sighed “Ah, Muzungu.” It sounded the way one might sigh over a favorite pet. “Oh, Mittens, did you chase that bird again today? You mischievous cat.” Sigh…
In town, I was browsing at an outdoor market and a little girl came to stand by me. She was probably three. She smiled up at me and whispered “Jambo.” then followed me around the shop. Sometimes she would pull on my skirt and I would look down and she would jump or twirl. I would applaud politely and she would blush and look away. She would play quietly with things I was looking at, then set them down and follow me around.
She was so sweet that I wanted to pick her up and hug her, but I figured that would be bad. Especially since her mother was sitting nearby and constantly calling her back.
Occasionally the little girl would turn and shake her head at her mother, or try to wave her away. But I think the woman enjoyed watching her show off for me as much as I did.
It was a real pity Travis had my camera at the time.
You all could have seen her sweet face.

Really Good Internet

2010-06-04T05:45:00.000-07:00

I have a few minutes (at least) of really good internet and I'm trying to use it to upload some pictures.

These are the children who live down the street (path, really) from Komaza's offices. We passed with the camera and they shouted, Picture! Picture!
We took several pictures and a few videos, too. They all turned out beautiful. Their mother asked, "When will you bring these back for me?"

We're not supposed to give out sweets, but I think printing out these pictures will be fine. Most of the people here do not have pictures of themselves of their children.

Their parents asked us, "Are you brothers?" I think (I hope) they just meant siblings.
"We're married," we said. They didn't understand. "Married, husband and wife."
We pointed at our rings and they laughed and laughed.

They laughed for five minutes.
I don't totally understand why.

Asante Sanna Squash Banana

2010-06-04T01:45:00.000-07:00

I think children in America know more Swahili than might be assumed.
Simba means Lion
Rafiki means Friend
Safari means trip or journey
Hakuna means No. As in No Worries. You know, Hakuna Matata.
Matata is problem or worry.
Jambo! is a greeting. But I’ve learned Jambo is more like an enthusiastic British “Alright?” than “Hello.”
The correct response to Jambo is Jambo.
Like alright?
Alright!
Sometimes they respond to Jambo with Jambo, Jambo!
It is very rude not to greet people when you pass. And we wave to everyone, and everyone here enthusiastically waves back. “Jambo Mzungu! Jambo!”

Yesterday I had a conversation with our Kenyan driver like this:
Peter: Your skin is already changing after only one day
Me: Yes, I always get darker in the sun. Does your skin change or does it stay the same all year?
Peter: Our skin maintains its color, but when we go to America we become whiter. I do not know why, but look at your president. If he came to Kenya he would get very dark, I think.
Me: Like a real African.
Peter: Yes. A real African man.
Me: What do you think of our president? I saw his picture painted on a bus.
Peter: We are all so very proud here in Kenya. We all love him.
Me: What do YOU think of him though?
Peter: I am very proud, yes. Not only that he is your president, but also that he is so very bright.

Later, Peter took me to buy a Kanga, a women’s skirt, and he asked the man working there something in Swahili.
“Yes, I thought so,” he said, and gave me a sneaky smile. He followed the Market man to the back, where he pulled out a long skirt. It was beautiful green and grey with a map of Africa on it. He unfolded it and there was a large picture of Obama’s face.
I absolutely bought that skirt. Though I told Peter later, it would be strange to wear in America.
“ Like wearing a Kabaki Kanga” said Matt, and Peter laughed and laughed. Kibaki is the Kenyan president. Actually, often when I introduce myself people think I am saying Kibaki. They all laugh and repeat, “Kibaki! Kibaki!”
Finally Matt told them, Becky is kidogo (small, or little) for Rebeccah. That made much more sense to them, since most people here have Biblical or Swaheli names.
After I bought my Kanga, I tried to tie it on, since it is essentially a large cloth that they wrap into a skirt. When we got to one of Komaza’s farms, where we were filming, there was a large group of women. They didn’t speak English, but they laughed when they saw my Kanga.
“Can you help me?” I asked, pointing to it.
They all covered their mouths and whispered and giggled, and finally one brave girl came over and wrapped it for me. “Asante Sanna,” I said and they laughed and clapped. Peter said, “They are saying you are very bright!”
Travis had walked away and I rushed to catch up with him. I stumbled and tripped in my skirt. All the women laughed and waved.
I walked down into the farm, constantly stumbling and retying my kanga. When I came back up the hill, men had also gathered and they laughed and cheered while the women whispered behind their hands and giggled.
Peter said, “The men say you look very smart!” I assume they meant that the British way, smart like attractive. It was very flattering.

The people here are unbelievably nice. In the city people were constantly helping us and staring at us and asking for money. But here in Kilifi they just want to say hello. They respond excitedly when you try to speak in their language. (All I can say is Hello, How are you? I am well. and a few basic other things like Thank you, My name is, and goodbye.) They cheer when you try to dress like them.
It makes me annoyed with Americans, who assume everyone who comes to the country should speak English, or dress in blue jeans. The Kenyan's don’t care how we dress, or talk.
They just appreciate it that we try.

Monkeys -- as in Evil, and possibly flying

2010-06-02T23:22:00.000-07:00

I have learned many things in the short amount of time I have been here.

1. If you sleep with your hand against the mosquito netting you will have bug-bites on all your knuckles.

2. Monkeys can keep you up all night and not have the decency to let you glimpse one.

3. If all you want is to see the noisy monkeys then you won’t… but your husband probably will.

4. Skirts are not a pain. They are cool and awesome and will make you much less sweaty than pants.

5. It’s too hot, even at 4am, to use even a sheet to sleep under.

6. If your pillows are uncased then your husband will probably steal your t-shirts to make pillowcases.

7. If you turn on the lights BEFORE you get out of bed the lizards and bugs will scatter and you won’t accidentally squish one while walking to the bathroom.

8. Getting up at 4am to watch the Mighty Boosh because you can’t sleep will not actually help you get over jet lag.

9. People who work for Social Entrepreneurships are cool.

10. If you hear a puppy (named Squeegee) yelping outside the backdoor and something growling and your husband says “That’s not growling, it just sounded like a chair moving across the deck,” don’t believe him. Try to go see whatever tiger is on your porch, because if you check in the morning, there is no furniture on the deck. Also, I haven’t seen that puppy yet today.

11. It also might have been monkeys harassing that poor little puppy.

A last note-- on TV I learned that if you try to trick a monkey, or feed it when you're not supposed to, they will kidnap, kill or otherwise terrify you.
Except for on The Wild Thornberries, when the monkey might become your proper and sarcastic best friend.
I would like for that to be the case with these monkeys, but Travis says they don't necessarily like bananas and that was the only way I've thought of to lure them to me.

Kilifi, Kenya, Africa!

2010-06-01T23:15:00.000-07:00

We’re here, we’re here and we never want to leave!
We’re finally in Kenya and it is gorgeous. Every few minutes I look around me and think, Why would any one ever want to live somewhere that isn’t Kenya? I’m sure I’ll find out but for now we just love it.
The sky is blue and bright and everywhere there are thick fields of grass, pineapple, and even corn. There are jungles with trees LITERALLY the size of a house that are reminiscent of Fern Gully.
We drove through Mobasa on our way to Kilifi and our driver was the best driver ever. Some parts of the road were thronged with cars going the wrong way, children trying to sell us sugar cane through the window and lots of goats and some parts were washed out or filled with potholes. But our driver cleared it all with ease, sometimes even with Cher blasting out the raido WHILE he’s on the phone.
The city was the most interesting to me, there were dozens of little internet cafes, pubs, and a little tin shack that had Beyonce Café spray painted on the side. It’s a real pity I couldn’t get a picture of it. And in the middle of all the chaos there are groups of beautiful barefoot children running footraces and playing soccer, and trying to get the white girl (ME) in the fancy car wave at them.
Every child I see is so breath-takingly adorable that I want to stop and hug them, take their picture and give them a hundred dollars. But I‘m pretty sure that’s something I shouldn’t do.
Everyone here is very, VERY helpful. A little too helpful, you know. Since they’ll rush over to grab your bags and pack them into the car for you then say “You have a little something for me?” And if you try to give them coins or a few British pounds they say “American notes are fine, American notes.” Okay Fine. We can spare two dollars.
Our house might be the best thing of all. We’re staying in a mansion-sized ex-pat Beach House with three other Americans. We have geckos on the walls, and ants of our keyboards while we try to type (Beat little bugs!) Then we have a huge big yard filled with trees filled with MONKEYS! We have a private pool and three dogs that apparently kind-of live here with us. We’re a five minute walk from the Indian Ocean, which is warm and turquoise. The beach is spongey, springy, deep and blinding white. There was a boat of fishermen a few hundred yards out in the water, and six or seven kids playing down by the beach, but it was otherwise deserted.
Surely we can’t be enjoying this perfection ourselves?
I’m sitting on our bed, which is surrounded by mosquito netting. Clinging to the outside are three or four grasshoppers the size of my longest finger, a few June-Bug like beetles and many moths and ants.
It’s weird how quickly you can adjust to these things. It just seems perfectly natural that we’re surrounded by monkeys, dogs, geckos and gigantic bugs. Any one of those things would lead me to complaint in the USA but here… I love it.
My Dad kept warning me to mentally prepare myself and after the culture shock I went through in China, who can blame him?
But I have yet to see anything that seemed “wrong” or “bad.” Everything just seems perfect. And if people live differently here, then that’s because its so different here. But different-good, you know. Different-awesome.
Tomorrow we’ll start working, but how can it be called working? We’re going to be meeting farmers, seeing their land and learning about what they do.
BEST JOB EVER.
I love here. For real.
Hopefully pictures will come soon.

Bon Voyage! (I hope...)

2010-05-30T14:15:00.000-07:00

And we're off. First to Colorado, London, then KENYA!

I'll try to write again soon.

Keep your fingers crossed that everything will go perfectly.

Destiny's Child

2010-05-28T10:13:00.000-07:00

It's getting down to the wire and I've been going crazy. I'm in a hectic state of terrified, unprepared list-making.
Lots and lots of To Do, To Buy, To Remember, To Pack, To Bake For the Plane lists.

And of course, it helps to listen to some Beyonce while going through all of this, since she and Ma Ingalls combined would create the world's most super woman ever.
And I seriously love them both.
And I can't sit down and read so I have to listen to music...

See what I mean? I'm definatly going a little crazy.
Anyway, on a totally non-Africa related tangent (since I don't want to talk about Africa just now, it is the cause of all my stress) I like to watch Destiny's Child music videos, followed by Beyonce music videos.
Because in one she looks and acts like a kid, and some of her videos will give you a seizure.
And in the other she's a super kick-ass woman who could kill your whole family with awesomeness.

Travis, thank you for putting up with so much girl music.
Kanye, we might have more in common than you thought.
Beyonce, my two favorite parts of Diva are when you say "What yo' boss say?" and also, "This is a stick up, stick up. I need them bags, all that money. See the mask? all that money."
Love Becky

p.s. Family and friends, I love that you could all contribute such nerdy comments on the post below. We are not alone.

p.p.s Do Kiesha music videos terrify you like they terrify me?
Well watch this instead.
LOVE it.

Wizarding Wonder

2010-05-27T09:50:00.000-07:00

Sometimes as we are brushing our teeth, thinking back on the day Travis will pose a question.

And sometimes I will ponder that question for the next week, unable to come to an acceptable answer.

I have been doing just that this last week.

His question:

Who do you think would win in a fight, Dumbledore or Gandalf?

Curse you, husband. I do not know.

It is nearly impossible to say, and yet I can't stop wondering.

Land of many blondes

2010-05-26T08:05:00.000-07:00

Today when Travis was driving me to work we passed two girls with straight blond hair. They were lightly make-uped, brightly dressed, and laughing and talking to each other.
I said, "Those girls look like Laestadian Lutherans!"
And Travis started laughing before I realized I'd said it.
Oops. Is that okay to say?
Maybe I should have said those girls look like Swedes (or Norwegians?)
Lutherans in Minnesota are like Mormons in Utah: They're everywhere.
There might be a few Catholics or Evangelists here or there (maybe even one lonely Mormon girl), but it's mostly Lutherans, and all different types of them.

Just like Minnesotans are descended from Swedes and Norwegians and Utahs are decended from Danes and Brits.
I was looking through my friends on facebook, trying to figure out if anyone from my high school besides me is married and saw first names like Ingrid, Lena, Linnea, Lindy, and an absurd amount of Anna's.
Lana used to say that everyone in Minnesota had CRAZY last names and I was always like "Yeah right, none of us have weird last names."
But two of my best friends were Krumholz and Abramoski.
And looking at facebook again I saw
Briesemeister
Groenke
Liska
Roushar
Tuchenhaggen
Haglund
Haggen
Ostvig
Olinger
Engle
Bongaarts
Lindborg
Herdklotz
Pulvermacher
Logas
Wulfenstein
Lenczewski
Schwietering

There are more but I have to give up. Because you don't want to read that list any more, you get the point.
I went from Froelich (very weird) to Pitcher (not weird).
But the extra amazing thing about looking through facebook was that most of my friends from Utah had last names like Brown, Williams, Welch, Stanley, Stokers, Jackson, Lee, Bingham, Pewitt.
Those are very normal names.

And I'll be honest.
I like the unpronouncability of our Midwestern names best.

p.s. haha, I just spell-checked this and NONE of the Utah names I listed popped up as misspelled and ALL of the Minnesota names did.

Funding for Africa is hard work

2010-05-24T09:58:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!
For those of you who don't know, Travis and I are leaving in less than a week to spend some time in Africa. I admit, we've reached the freaking-out-a-bit stage.
Travis, (I think you might all know) is Documentary Film Maker, and is particularly interested in Short-form Documentaries, most are only somewhere between 2 and 15 minutes long.They're the kind of documentaries you see on YouTube or Vimeo.

We'll be making several such documentaries in Africa.

First in Kenya, we'll be working with KOMAZA. They're a social entrepreneurship that helps farmers afford drought-resistant fast-growing trees which can sell as a cash crop, helping the farmer get out of debt. But the trees also enrich the landscape and environment, making the good-effects for Kenya itself long term.

Then in Uganda we'll be working with HELP International. They help with dozens of different things, but we'll be working particularly with an Eye Camp. Because the houses and huts in Uganda have such poor ventilation, many people go blind when they are very young.HELP International provides eye-surgery or glasses to many people, as well as helping build adobe stoves that will prevent such problems from continuing.

We are super excited to go and really grateful for all the support of our friends and family.
I hate to ask for more, since many of you have really helped us out, but I'm going to.
We got a grant for 5,000$ to go film. But our flights alone cost 4,800$. After 400$ of shots, paying for our bills while we're gone (like rent and phone bills, etc), and buying last minute camera equipment we're pretty low in the hole, even after hours of fundraising.

If you could donate even a dollar (though we wouldn't say no to more) it would be an entire meal for us in Africa.
Please send checks to Help International (and don't forget to write Travis and Becky Pitcher in the memo line) at
HELP International
363 N. University Ave.
Suite 110
Provo, UT 84601

Or log on to PayPal and send us a few dollars that way.
My PayPal account email is rebeccah.louise@gmail.com

Thanks again, and we love you!
Becky

Hope and happiness and joy

2010-05-24T09:04:00.000-07:00

A few months ago the Visiting Teaching lesson was on Personal Scripture study.
It was very sweet and after hearing my companion Sarah teach the lesson three different times, I started to think "Maybe I should try to read my scriptures, since that is something I am very bad at remembering to do."
So I've been trying.
Trying, mind you, not always suceeding.

But when I do set aside the time in the morning, I usually read a chapter from the Book of Mormon (get one for free here!) and then an article from the Ensign. Being as this month the Ensign is filled with talks from General Conference, I find this to be particularly wonderful.

Today I read these words:
Hope and happiness and joy are not products of circumstance but of faith in the Lord.

I cannot stop rereading it.
I am not happy merely because my life is good, or because I have a job, or because I have a perfect-for-me husband (though trust me, all those thing contribute) but one by one those things could disappear.
The only thing that would keep me happy then, and what keeps me happy now, is the gospel of Christ.

Today it is snowing, so I found this scripture to be especially apt as well:
Remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his might winds, yea, his shafts in the wirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which you are built, which is a sure foundation, whereon if men build they cannot fall.

I would highly recommend reading this conference talk if you have some time. It will only take about ten minutes, and even if you're not Mormon, it is beautiful to read. You know I don't often ask you to read these sort of things, and although I have a strong testimony of Christ, I hardly ever mention it on my blog for fear of turning people away.
But this is worth it.

If you're feeling down, or maybe cold and wet from the unexplicable snowfall outside, this will help you feel better.
I'm sure of it.

Travis got stung by a bee

2010-05-22T20:40:00.001-07:00

On his eye!

I hate school

2010-05-21T10:38:00.001-07:00

I feel like a child saying that, but it's true.
It has always been true.

I used to cry in the nurses office for hours every week in Elementary school, trying to get sent home.
Yes, there have been many classes, individual classes, that I've loved.
Like Novel or Yearbook in high school.
Chemistry, both in high school and college.
Quite honestly, I loved Alegebra.
I have loved every writing class I've ever taken at BYU. LOVED it. Never wanted to stop.

I love to read, and write and just learn.
But I hate school. I hate tests, grades, group-projects, absence policies, required credits and pre-freaking-requisites for classes I want to take merely to TAKE.
It drives me to frustrated cuss-word filled fits of tears.

I have a very low GPA.
I mean, not VERY low, but way lower than anyone I know... my husband got all As last semester and I got an array of Cs, Bs and maybe an A, but I don't remember. That's because I don't care. Grades mean absolutely nothing to me. Even those classes I loved... I doubt I got an A in more than one or two of them, more often I got a C.

I want to take Nutrition because it sounds super interesting and it could help me be healthier.
I want to take Family Finances because then I will understand why I am poor, or what the heck a CD is or maybe how to do my own taxes.
I want to take a computer course on Illustrator because I don't understand how to use it and I want to use it almost daily.

And I can't.
Because I'm the wrong major. Because I could fail and then have an even lower GPA. Because it's not just about learning, it's about everything else that I hate (see the list above).

I had a bit of a melt-down today when I learned that I might not actually get to graduate when I thought I did because maybe I couldn't take summer classes due to Africa.

"I hate school!" I yelled at Travis (poor Travis gets the brunt of my melt-downs.) "I don't want to be here any longer than I have to! I just want to get out!"
"So quit!" He may have yelled, but I doubt it. He's not the yelling type. "Just quit school and find a job."

and the thing that I hate most about school is that I can't quit.
I can't just decide that I am done. I need to have a college-degree to survive in this world.
and really, to face myself. So I can at least say, "you got through that hell-hole, Becky. You did it."
I just have one year left.

One year.
One itty bitty little year.
Just one seventeenth of my schooling left.

And I'm done until parent-teacher conferences with my kids come around.
And I can't stop counting down the days.

To Do:

2010-05-18T11:51:00.000-07:00

I tell myself "First I will eat,"
Then I say

"Then I will put away all the clean dishes and then wash all the dirty dishes and clean the rest of the kitchen.
Then I will clean the living room. Then the bedroom and then I will vacuum the house."

Oh no, I stop myself.
"I should do the laundry first so I can do everything else while the laundry is going. But then I have to bike to the store to get some cash and change to wash it. and if I'm going to the store then I should figure out what to have for dinner, so I can pick things up if I need to instead of going back."
So I start to clean the kitchen a little so I have some room to look at cookbooks at the kitchen table.
And then I look at cookbooks until I realize that I'm starving and it's past lunch time and I have yet to even do the first thing on my list.
Eat.
And I think, there's no way I'll survive once kids are thrown into the mix.

Because having a house that you want to keep clean sucks sometimes.
But, I mean... usually it's okay.
Usually I even like it.

But not today.
Blegh. Maybe it's the rain that's got me down.

My Weekend

2010-05-17T09:23:00.000-07:00

was a very good weekend.
I will tell you all about it.
It began with going to the farmers market on Saturday with Travis and Lauren and a boy named John. There were hardly any veggies, since it's only May. But we did buy two dozen beautiful eggs and some fresh meat. Also radishes, but we ate them all before I could photograph them.
Mmmmmm.
The egg yolks are so ORANGE! They're crazy.
Don't they look pretty? Like they're already painted for Easter, especially the green ones.

Then we went to Travis's parents and picked all the rhubarb out of their garden (Thank you very much!) Then Lauren and Suzie and Emma and I canned some Strawberry Rhubarb Jam.
Delicious!
It was the first time any of us had canned something and we were very successful!

We went to see Babies that evening with Travis's parents and I LOVED it. It was exactly like the preview. Short clips, back and forth between babies.
There was no dialogue and if there were parents talking in the background it was not translated or important.
I don't think Trav's parents liked it very much because there were lots of boobies. The African women never wore tops and we saw all of the women breast-feeding. But it was pretty tasteful, so Travis and I didn't really mind.
On Sunday I used my new jam and new eggs and made Swedish Pancakes. We went through an entire jar of jam the first day.

For church I dressed like a forties reporter... kind of. I wore a white button up shirt and a grey high-waisted pencil skirt and I wore a skinny little tie tucked into my skirt.
I wish I had a picture. I had many compliments, on account of, I looked adorable.
Sunday night we had Cole and Suzie over for hamburgers, using the meat we got at the Farmer's Market. (The cattle was slaughtered just three weeks ago. It was so terribly fresh, and it was free-range and it was local.) And we ate it with homemade spelt-flour buns.
Then the left-over strawberries and rhubarb went into my first ever Lattice-Top pie.
YUM!

What a successful and delicious weekend.
We spent the evening watching Charlie and Lola on Youtube, which is a past time I would highly recommend.

p.s. Listen to Travis talk on the radio here.
He thinks he sounds dumb, but I do not. Lets take a poll. Do you think Travis sounds stupid? Yes or No?

Whole Wheat

2010-05-14T11:18:00.000-07:00

I am a lover of cookbooks.
Which is something I didn't know until I got married.
Since then, however, I've realized that I spend several hours every Thursday going through cook books and cooking blogs planning our weekly meals. (Thursday's the day for that)
Yesterday I spent a good three hours looking through the Seed Saver's Exchange online seed catalog.
And calling multiple people to say things like "There are over four thousand tomato varieties! FOUR THOUSAND. Tomatoes for slicing, tomatoes for drying, for canning, for salads, black tomatoes, green tomatoes, striped tomatoes!"
I've also been reading an absurd amount of books about food that aren't cook books.

They're making me feel hungry and a little guilty and also make me want to have a little farm.
I've been eating super well, which is amazing since usually people are like "Becky, I think you have scurvy, do you know what fruit is?" and I say, "I'll be fine, gimme some of that Lemon-aid, it'll cure me."

But all these food books make me want MORE cookbooks.
And one that aren't Cookies. (Which, by the way, is AWESOME.)
Mostly I want a book called Good to the Grain, because I'm trying to cook with whole grains, but just adding whole wheat flour into recipes that call for white flour doesn't work if you don't understand flour as a substance and taste.
So far I've managed to steal three recipes from Good to the Grain without actually buying it.
Whole Wheat Chocolate Chip Cookies from Food in Jars
Oatmeal Pancakes from Smitten Kitchen
and Spelt Flour Pie Crust from when I snuck into the bookstore and copied it out of the book without paying for it.

Farmer's Market starts this weekend in Provo and I'm about peeing my pants in anticipation.
Also, I'm almost done with Animal Vegetable Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, so get ready to hear hyperbole's like "The best book I've ever read."
Which it might be.
And that's saying a LOT.

Hey. Eat some good food today. I doubt you'll regret it.

* * *
p.s. this is a totally unrelated Tipping Bucket Video that Travis stayed up all freaking night making while I slept in my bed alone... *tears*
It must be pretty good then, right? Donate a dollar at Tippingbucket.org
ALSO, that's my voice at the beginning.

Other People

2010-05-13T17:15:00.001-07:00

others have good things to say.

If I send you to a blog it's because reading made me feel emotions.

Maybe excitement and eekness: Uganda!!

Or that tickley feeling where I want to have a baby to love: Blissful Inspiration

Or horror: Tyra Banks announces she will pen a novel: Modelland

Or imaginative. by needing to imagine all the good things that could come of this: Fatty Contest

All I have to say today is what you guys are saying too.

Birthdays

2010-05-11T10:59:00.000-07:00

Warning: This post is longer than was expected.

(If you're wondering what my Mom looked like when I was little)
(and if you're wondering what Minnesota looked like when I was little)

On her blog Emma talked about being nine and being barefoot and being in the Midwest.

Which is funny because whenever I think of how perfect a place the upper Midwest is to grow up, I always think about being nine. I don’t usually think about being barefoot, but that’s because it’s such an obvious expected thing. I only think about when I had to wear shoes.

Like when Kristine and her Grandma and I went walking down the middle of a calm part of the Mississippi behind her Grandma’s house. She made us wear shoes so we wouldn’t cut our feet on unseen things and I ruined a pair of tennis shoes by getting them wet.

I think I ruined a pair of tennis shoes every summer by walking in rivers or sloshing through ponds.

Or stomping in mud.

There’s water and mud everywhere so it’s not really hard to do. Mom would make us put our muddy shoes in the garage until they dried out and try to make us wear them the next time some grown-up dictated that we wear shoes, but we always thought they were too gross to put back on.

I guess this is a post about Mom somehow. Even if it’s about Minnesota, too. They have the same birthday, Minnesota and Mom, it’s today: May 11^th. Happy Birthday.

I think about them the same sometimes, which might be weird for my mom. But they’re so beautiful, and better than anyone or anywhere else, they completely shaped me as a person.

When you were little did you try to imagine what it was like for your mother to be little like you? I grew up so close to Mom’s home town that when we drove through I used to try to picture her walking down the street. I would associate stories with actual places. She would say that she grew up with a tire swing that swung out over Lake Silvey, and I would imagine her swinging out and dropping into that actual lake.

I would go swimming in Lake Silvey and think of her and of my grandma and me and how we all swam in the same lake and how it made us the same.

I think of summer days when Mom and Kim would stand in our kitchen with windows open (and screens shut, of course) and it was so hot inside because they were boiling tomatoes.

They made so much salsa every year. We would play outside and run in and they would be filling dozens of cans with delicious mild salsa.

I would try to grab a chip and dip in to the half-way made salsa and sometimes Mom would let me. Sometimes she wouldn’t.

Summertime. Summertime is almost upon us.

We used to go berry-picking until we burst. We would weave in between the rows, instead of staying in one like we were supposed to. The berries were always warm from sitting all day under the hot sun. The soft skins would burst and warm red juice would explode in your mouth and Mom would tell us to pick them, not eat them.

We’d come home then with buckets full and Mom would freeze a bunch for smoothies and desserts.

Then she would get out the cans again and Kim would come over and they’d spend the whole afternoon and maybe the next making strawberry jam. Mmm, just thinking about it makes me want toast with homemade jam.

Most nights after that, when Kim and her girls spent the whole day at our house anyway, Dad would get out the barbeque and make burgers and brats for all of our families.

We’d spend the evening running around the yard, barefoot, and covered in so much bug spray it’s a miracle we could taste the brats.

And I can picture Mom in a lawn chair or on the front steps laughing and talking and not caring that we were covered in mud.

And not caring if we ran through the neighbors sprinklers with our clothes on.

And knowing that when it came time for the Haggen’s to go we would cry that we needed to have them sleepover, or we wanted to sleep over there and we wanted to set up a tent in the yard.

And she would shrug and say fine, and the next day we would wear the same clothes, or no clothes at all except a swimsuit and it would all start over.

Until the very end of summertime.

* * *

I love you Mom. Happy Birthday and thank you for being so good, and raising me so well, and teaching me about all the important things, like friends, and swimming and bug spray.

And I’m sorry I never learned to dive as well as you.

Happy Birthday Minnesota, I love you and miss you and hope that you are not embarrassed that I talk about you on my blog all the time.

As Promised

2010-05-11T09:28:00.000-07:00

This is the picture I mentioned in my last post.
I am wearing my great-grandmother's dress, which was MADE by my great-great grandmother.

It's very old and cool.
Don't you think?

We're standing in front of our house, even though it's hard to see.
Isn't it a nice green?

Giddy

2010-05-10T09:02:00.000-07:00

I love Travis today.
Well, I love him every day.

But the amazing thing is I love him MORE everyday, which means today I love him the most I've ever loved him.

and I feel that way right now, especially.
Like I wish he and I could skip work and go home and snuggle.
And I wish he didn't have to drive his scooter in the cold rain outside.
And I wish I hadn't accidentally hurt his leg last night when he and I were romping.
(Romping isn't code for sex.)

We were just wrestling/tickling/laughing and maybe I got tickled and in surprise I may have kicked his leg very hard.
ON ACCIDENT,
and maybe today I feel very guilty for hurting him.

And I feel like I would like to go home and make up for it by snuggling.
And making him watch West Side Story, which might not TOTALLY make it up to him, since he's not a huge fan of musicals.

And maybe one of my friends wants to do something nice for Travis that will totally embarrass him, but I'm not going to stop them because it's so nice.
And I love when other people are nice to him.

And I have a picture I took of us last night that I was going to post so you can see how handsome he is and how chubby I've gotten since I got married... but it won't load.
So maybe tomorrow you'll see it.

And it's goofy because I look little and chubby and he looks tall and splattered with meat sauce.
Since I made him come outside and take it while he was in the midst of making his completely-from-scratch and highly delicious gnocci with meat sauce.
Which, of course, accompanied my completely-from-scratch and mostly delicious whole wheat bread sticks and blackberry spice cake.
And that night we discussed how lucky our future kids are to have us as parents.
And how lucky we each are to have spouses who are good at cooking.

And just how lucky we are in general.
And I miss him when he's at work.
Like right now.
I miss him.

5 years old

2010-05-06T10:49:00.000-07:00

I called Kathryn. It went like this:
(Please imagine my voice as being overly excited and hers as being overly bored.)

me: Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday dear Kathryn! Happy Birthday to you.
Kathryn: . . . .
me: Happy Birthday, Kathryn.
Kathryn: Thank you.
me: Does it feel different to be 5 years old?
Kathryn: Yes.
me: Well, how do you feel?
Kathryn: I feel good.
me: What are you doing for your birthday?
Kathryn: I'm shopping for candy for my birthday right now.
me: Do you have any --
Kathryn: OKAY! Bye, I love you!
me: Oh, okay bye.
Kathryn: Wait, what were you going to say?
me: I was just wondering if you had any birthday wishes.
Kathryn: Thanks, I love you! BYE!

Oh, so your birthday wish is to NOT talk to me on the phone.
Got it.

A few weeks ago my mom was on the phone with me, and after Kathryn interrupted her several times she asked, "Kathryn wants to know if the baby in your belly is a boy or a girl and if it's growing yet."
"Tell her I have some of each, but they're not growing yet."
"Oh, okay." Kathryn said.

Kathryn was lying in bed, listening to my dad and uncle laugh in the living room.
"It sounds like they're having fun," she said.
"Yeah," my mom said, "Your dad likes when Matt's here."
"Do you think we should go out there?"
"No, you're supposed to be going to sleep."
...
"Am I supposed to be having fun right now?"
"No. You're supposed to be going to sleep."
"Oh. That makes sense."

I tried to upload a video that I took of Kathryn singing a few months ago, but the video has been at 39% for like 6 hours. So that's a no go.

Here's a link to Kathryn's birthday post last year, which I reread and then laughed until I cried a little. And peed a little.
Also, here are several other posts which are mostly about how funny she is, which I don't want to rewrite, but want to encourage you to read.
And don't forget to read the comments, since that's where my parents post additional funny things she says.

Five years old... REALLY?
Kathryn's birthday last year.
Kathryn at Christmas time.
The Family in general being ridiculous, (but with lots of Kathryn)
A weekend at the cabin.
The last time I saw Kathryn.

Please, if you have time to waste... waste it with the Froelichs. We are so very entertaining.
Oh, and here's a link to a video or two on the family blog of the best singer ever: Kathryn.

Marriage, sex, things like that.

2010-05-06T08:31:00.000-07:00

(tehe, this is a picture Travis took this morning. Heso tall, look at my little feet, all the way down there.)

I heard a conversation on campus like this:
"So how's being married?" (a favorite BYU question)
"Oh, you know. Weird, different."
"Really?"
"Good different, but yeah. Really, really different."

And I thought, "different how?"
A year ago on a normal weekend night I might fall asleep on the couch with my roommates watching the OC with our mouths half-full of poptarts. At some later, early-morning time I would wake to the disk menu playing on repeat and stumble to my bed.
Or, as is more likely, go back to sleep on the couch.
NOW, however, I fall asleep on the couch with my roommate (aka Travis, aka best roomie ever) watching The Lord of the Rings with my mouth half full of homemade cookies. When the movie finishes, Travis wakes me up and when I decide to stay on the couch all night instead of getting up he carries me to our bed and I sleep there. (Heso strong. Meso love it.)
So what I mean, I still hardly ever brush my teeth.

And it seems really similar to me as before.
Different better: Yes.
Different a lot: Not really.

It's especially not different to the six months BEFORE we got married. During that time I would wake up, call Travis and see him all day every day. Then fall asleep where ever we happen to be at 10 o'clock ('cause I go to bed every night at ten, even if I don't mean to) and he would take me home and make me sleep in a bed, instead of outside in a tree.
Now it's the same except we live together.

Two nights ago after Travis carried me to bed again (it would be four nights in a row that he carried me to bed, except that on Monday night we ate dinner in bed and then just stayed there until I passed out.) Anyway, last night, Travis said "You know, you're completely helpless after 9:30."
and then he laughed and said, "And you don't get up in the morning until after 9 everyday.
Why do you need twelve hours of sleep?" Then he laughed and laughed.
Laugh it up.
Whatevs.

On a different topic, and to justify my very suggestive blog title:
Every time I see O Magazine (Oprah's Magazine) I think of the big O.
Which is why I sometimes call it Orgasm Magazine.
I don't call it that because it excites me. Just because O as a letter makes me think of O as something that isn't a letter, but is an.... action?
Reaction?

Now I can't decide how to define the big O.
Also, the big O is a phrase I really like to use, ever since I read it on a website about chick-flicks.
It said something about how When Harry Met Sally was the first movie that talked about girls faking it, but instead of it, they said faking the big O.
And I laughed and laughed. On account of, I LOVE When Harry Met Sally.
Speaking of things I love:
I LOVE Glee.
Even though I was originally against it.

I was against it because girls who I think are annoying watch it.
AND because I knew too many kids like that in high school.
AND because I knew that they sang a song from Wicked in it, and nothing can get stuck in your head for the rest of your life like Wicked.

But I've turned a new leaf, because girls I like watch it. (and I'm all about doing what other people do.)
AND because it reminds me of how much I both liked and hated everyone I knew in high school.
AND because it's really, really, really funny. And knowing that it's a satire makes it okay to watch.
(also, every time Jesse St.James is on the screen I can't help but think of Jimmy Person)

Travis loves Glee too, but he won't admit it.
And he'll probably leave a comment like "I don't love it, you make me watch it!" Except he'll also have to justify that comment now since I already called him out.
WHAT!
Speaking of WHAT!? (which is a word I exclaim when something amazes me or is funny[even if I'm doing at myself, 'cause I often think I'M funny]) watch this video.
WHATT!? HOLY FREAKING CRAP! Those are the sounds I made when I watched it, so if you want to pretend that we're watching it together then say them aloud anytime someone does something crazy, amazing or funny:

Yesterday I bumped into a pretty group of girls from my Freshman year. We were talking about BABIES, which comes out this weeeekend. Are you freaking out? 'Cause I. AM. SO. PSYCHED.

"How are you getting your husband to go?" Candace asked and I thought What craziness! ALL humans with a soul should want to see it. Because they're little babies and babies are the best, cutest, snuggliest, funniest, softest, happiest, best best best thing ever. DUH!
Hmm, my computer doesn't think snuggliest is a real word, but it does think snuffliest is.
Babies are the snuffliest thing ever, too. DUH!
Turns out DUH is still fun to say, even when you're not seven.
Travis wants to see Babies even as much as me.

Watch the preview again, or go to the babies website to watch happy little clips that will have you giggling like a lunatic... or maybe they just do that to me.
So have we talked about things in order?
First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage.

Really? How can you not be dying to watch this?

I woke up to loon calls.

2010-05-05T07:59:00.000-07:00

"Impossible!" you say. "That cheery and eerie Minnesotan bird could never live in Utah's desert climate!"

Yeah, well I think one of our neighbors has a loon call.
I said to Travis "That's a loon! Someone must have a loon call!" and he looked skeptical.
"Have you ever heard a bird like that?" he shook his head no.

However, after a half hour of loon calls I became confused.

Maybe there is another bird around here that kind of sounds like a loon.

Or maybe they had a loon sound on their alarm clock or computer.

Last night we had a conversation that began with Travis filling out a form. It asked the question "If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you most want to go?"

He wrote Minnesota.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just have been thinking about it so much lately."

"Because it's spring and Minnesota is beautiful in the spring?"

"No. I just have this longing. It's calling me back. The cool deep waters. That little neighborhood outside Minneapolis. The people. The people there are really nice."

And I thought, "Congratulations, Becky. Taking Travis there last summer was so wise because it's impossible for anyone to go to Minnesota, really go there, and not long for it later. Maybe someday we'll live there after all."

Because Minnesota is the best kept secret in the United States.

People think of Minnesota and they're like "Those backwards lumberjack hicks without electricity must have such crappy lives."

And we say YES.

Except for me, because I love it so much I can't keep it a secret.

Here's a secret: Whoever made up the rumor that California, especially SoCal (hehe) is awesome was LYING.

Apparently it's warm there, not HOT. The water is SUPER cold as well as being dirty and filled with a billion people. The cities are dirty and crowded and it's a dessert so... it automatically sucks for that reason.

Minnesota gets hot in the summer, and gets snow in the winter and is secret and pretty.

And filled with lakes.

Filled with Loons.

Filled with Loon calls.

Travis was reading over my shoulder as I wrote and said "Why did you write "hehe" after SoCal?"
I responded, "I thought the phrase SoCal was a joke."
He only laughed, so now I think, Is it NOT a joke? Do people call it SoCal for real?

How confusing.
And also stupid.

Kenya

2010-05-04T10:59:00.000-07:00

I am so excited for Africa.
I get more excited every day.

I'm also terrified out of my mind, but I think that is normal, too.

These are videos Travis found online that are beautiful.
Hopefully we will be able to create documentaries that touch those who watch it, and connect them to people across the world.
Hopefully they will have some of the beauty that is in these documentaries.

The Dancer from Kensington on Vimeo.

(my favorite)

Kenya 2010 from Kensington on Vimeo.

So you know how there are seagull sounds

2010-05-03T09:37:00.001-07:00

when you click on my blog?

It's that bear movie from a few posts back.
It automatically plays for some reason.

It was supposed to be the trailer for Food Inc. I swear that I copied the link right from the Food Inc website.
I didn't even know it was bear video until Lana left a comment asking about it.

Travis keeps saying I should change it because it's both nonsensical and annoying.

But I can't.
Because I think it's really quite funny.

clap your hands

2010-05-01T09:04:00.000-07:00

I am trying to reconcile my beliefs.
More specifically, my religious beliefs and my Peter Pan beliefs.

Here's the problem: I may believe in the evolution of animals, but I think God created man as MAN. Now, If god created Adam and Eve as adults then the first baby ever born was Cain.
When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and THAT was the beginning of fairies.

Oh dear goodness. Was Cain, the first murderer and son of perdition also the creator of those wonderful little creatures?
How can this beeee?!
I hope God created Adam and Eve as babies. Then Adam's laugh could have been the beginning of fairies.
Come on Bible and Jame Barrie, BE MORE SPECIFIC IN YOUR RECORD KEEPING.

This is something I will have to ponder for a long time.
Probably while listening to Pogo's mashup of Hook, because it's awesome.

This is somrthing good:

2010-04-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

Please click here to learn about how I could benefit your life.

Kelsey N; I hope you read this

2010-04-29T21:28:00.000-07:00

I loved my elementary school music teacher.
Worshiped. He was the coolest teacher ever, except (surprisingly) my gym teacher Mr. Kline who had a red beard and sometimes subbed for music class.
The two of them were equally amazing to me.

But my music teacher's name I don't remember. I do remember though that the name of his band was Waking Virginia. Which, as a 9 year-old was the best band name ever. I even remember that they called it Waking Virginia because they practiced late at night in the a garage and the street they lived on was Virginia Road (or street, lane, avenue, you know...)
I remember he LOVED the Beatles and he had us watch Yellow Submarine in class. I told myself I loved it because I loved him.
But really I thought it was confusing.

Now I think that it's not really for children, even if it's a cartoon.

But I never ever got caught reading in music class. That was the only class that I never got caught reading in.
Until reading week, that is, of fifth grade. (DUM DUM DUUUUUM)

It began like this, and my family will tell you that I tell lies or make things up and maybe as a nine year-old I exaggerated things (something I've outgrown) and have remembered wrong, but if I lie, I don't think I do. I remember the story like this, and it begins with one of the two Kelseys.

There were two girls named Kelsey in my grade. They were, of course, best friends for no reason other than their matching names.
One day, Kelsey N. said to me, "What do you do so that so many people like you?"
I said, always very self-righteous, "Nothing, I just do what I like. I like to read and I'm very good at it. Maybe people like me because I'm so good at reading."
This is the sort of thing that you think when teachers make you take a test and then go "Oh my! You read at a twelfth grade level!"
"Of course I do," you think to yourself, "I should be starting college next year I'm so smart."
Then you think that's probably why you have friends.

But Kelsey took that to heart. The next Monday was the beginning of Reading Week. You got to bring in a book and blanket and lie on the floor and read instead of work. It was the best week of the year.
Kelsey came in wearing a pin that said "I love to read." I thought, "that's stupid. Everyone loves to read."
Then she wrote on the white board with a red marker (I can still picture it exactly!) "It's I love to read week, so READ!!"
And I thought, "You're stealing my thing that I do, which is read all the time."

Throughout the week she carried around big looking books (that I had already read before, of course) and said things to people like "I love to read SO much," or "all I do all day is read," or "My mom has to ground me from books I like to read because I don't do other work."
and I thought "I will kill you, Kelsey N."
She got in trouble for reading under her desk.
Which was also MY thing.

Then one day, Scooter (a boy who I remember was named Scott) said to me, "Have you read the Harry Potter books?"
"Yeah," I said, "I read all three in just one day each over Christmas break" (back when there were only three).

"Wow," said Scooter, "You're almost as bad as Kelsey N."
And I blew my top.
Everytime Kelsey said, "I like to read" I would yell "I LOVE to read MORE THAN KELSEY N."
If Kelsey stayed in to read books instead of go to recess, so did I.
And when Kelsey pulled out her book secretly in the back of music class
so did I.

I remember how embarrassed I was when I was caught.
It wasn't like being caught reading in a normal class, because in a normal class I always felt secretly proud that I was reading under my desk.
But in music class I wanted to die. I wanted to curl up in a hole and die.
It was mortifying.
Because I loved my music teacher so very much.

And yet....
I wanted to be caught so that everyone would know, I was not almost as bad as Kelsey N.
Kelsey N. was almost as bad as me.

I think she outgrew that "reading" thing.
Sadly, I did not.
My mother often complains that she is the only woman in America who has to take books away from her children as punishment.
Jack has to get reading glasses because he'll read for so long that when he looks up he can't see anything far away.

The doctor said, "If you just take a break from reading every 20 or 30 minutes you wouldn't need glasses." But Jack said no.
Because in our family we read for 5-6 HOURS before taking a break.
Every twenty minutes?

How would you know what's happening in your book if you take a break every 20 minutes?

I work in AV Tech

2010-04-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

That means that I am in charge of Audio/Visual needs in the law school.

Primarily guys work here. I'm the only girl in an office with six men.

Upstairs in Tech support there are no girls, so maybe it's understandable that people are surprised that I work here.

But unbelieving?

Come on, people.

I was sitting at the desk in the AV office and someone came to the door.

Confused man: Hey, do you know where the AV guys are?

Me: I am an AV guy, what can I help you with?

Confused man: Ummm, I just have something for them.

Me: I can take it for you, what do you need done with it?

Confused Man nervously hands me a few cds : tell them this is for the conference to be recorded on.

Me: I will be sure to record it for you.

Confused Man: Uhh, yeah... Well okay.... Um, someone told me they need the AV guys in room 303 if you want to tell them.

Me: I will go help the people in 303, do you need anything else?

Confused Man wanders away confused-like without responding.

Really?

THEN I went upstairs to pick up an extra laptop from Tech support. I have met every person up there at least a dozen times. At least.

I went up said, "Hey guys, can I grab a laptop?"

They all turned to stare.

Confused man 2: Uhhh, are you from Law and Religion?

Me: No.

Russell (the only person in Tech support who isn't awful): She works in Media Services downstairs.

Confused man 2: Oh, did you call up a request?

Me: No, we're just a laptop short.

Confused man 2: How did Russell know you worked downstairs?

Me: We're friends, we've met several times.

Confused man 2: How long have you worked here?

Me: About a year.

Confused man 2: Oh, where have I been? The only girl I know downstairs is Mindy.

Me: Mindy graduated a year ago and hasn't worked here since.

Confused man 2: Oh wow. So, we can't give you a laptop unless you fill out this form.

That is not true. We borrow laptops on almost a daily basis. I have never even seen that sign out sheet. I suspect he did it because he didn't recognize me even though we've met about ten times.

Maybe it's my haircut... Am I unrecognizable?

Maybe it's my womanness... Am I not nerdy enough? Do they think I'm not smart enough?

Let's be honest, I do not have a hard job.

If boys can do it, girls can do it easily.

Maybe that's where the confusion comes in. They assume that a woman so smart wouldn't have to lower herself to working at such a simple job.

Ahh, now it makes sense.

Now you know!

2010-04-28T15:24:00.001-07:00

(Say that the way they say it in Bill Nye)

A friend recently had this first video on her blog. I find it to be most hilarious.
Her blog is usually filled with tidbits of genius and I love it.
Watch this. Do it. Watch it all the way through.

Near the beginning, especially you will be tempted to turn it off, but stick with it because it happens to be great.

If you don't have twenty minutes to watch these both (YOU SHOULD) then watch the second instead of the first because it's funnier. If you do have twenty minutes then watch the first one and then the second because the first is a really good intro to the series.

Oh British people. You are funny.
Water:

Maths:

I also considered titling this post Thants, Fungy's, or 1+10= A Man.

Lost

2010-04-28T14:54:00.001-07:00

This is not about the TV show.
This is about how I have been very good about cleaning out folders on my computer.
I have been good about deleting old files and moving edited files to my external hard drive and then deleting them off my computer, since I have little room.
I am also good at constantly emptying my trash,

Or so I thought.

Sometimes I am apparently good at just deleting everything and not saving or moving it.
and THEN emptying my trash.

Good thing I got Richard and Amy's engagement pictures on to disks for them before I deleting all their photos from my computer.
Dang it.
I literally do not have their photos on my computer any more.

It's seriously stressing me out since I gave my only copies to them.
Sorry you don't get to see them

Foodie

2010-04-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

I loves me some food.
You know this though, right?
In fact, on Sunday Travis and I learned how to make fresh butter, since I got a butter churner for my birthday. We churned some homemade butter and ate it on homemade bread. Yum!

On our trip up to Zion's National Park last weekend our carmates, Travis and I talked about food for about two hours straight.

One of the things that we talked about (besides Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, of course) was the change in the Government's stance on food. If any of you have seen Food Inc. you know that the Government's hand in food isn't to keep us healthy, but to make them money. The FDA and USDA are overrun with Washington's men, when they should probably be overrun with farmers or nutritionists.
The Government used to award those who were willing to go out and farm the land for themselves, but now it's almost impossible to be a farmer without going HUGE into debt, relying almost entirely on the Government, and providing nothing but crappy meat and corn.
Farmers are not farmers anymore, they are factory workers.

We talked a lot about The Little House on the Prairie, mostly because I'm obsessed with Little House on the Prairie. We talked about how the family unit was stronger before fast food because kids and parents spent time together farming, gardening and cooking, and then sitting down together and eating.
So when we transformed into a service based industry from a labor based industry people could get food cheap, quick and independent of their family.
We discussed the fact that since the beginning of humans, we've eaten the same basic things, fruits, veggies, nuts, wheats, rice, meat.
But now, even though people haven't evolved much, our food has. Our body hasn't the faintest idea of what to do with a poptart, or cheetos, but it knows how to handle an apple.
We also discussed how people think they can eat whatever they want and then take vitamins. Taking a vitamin C pill is not the same as eating an orange. Come on, guys.

Here's a little thought I recently had, though:
Most people know very little about Mormons, but what they generally DO know has to do with what we call "The Word of Wisdom." The Word of Wisdom is a list of things we do or don't eat or drink. We don't drink alcohol, or coffee. We don't smoke or chew tobacco.
We believe these instructions were given by God via the Prophet Jospeh Smith. People tend to quote the last part which says that if we obey these commandments we'll have health in our navel, marrow in our bones, run and not be weary, walk and not faint.
I want to quote the first part, where God says " Behold, verily, thus saith the Lord unto you: In consequence of evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days, I have warned you, and forewarn you, by giving unto you this word of wisdom by revelation—"

What's that? The reason that God has to tell us what's good to eat is because of conspiring men? Because some future day (now, perhaps?) people will decide what we should and shouldn't eat for us, and someday people will distort food until it is unhealthy to eat, and they will try to ensnare us by making food addictive and easy and fast until the day that it could destroy the family, our bodies, the Government and the entire US food system.
Am I getting carried away?
Maybe a little.
Maybe food isn't the reason that there are so many things wrong with the world or America.

But maybe it has something to do with it.
And as someone who loves food, I say, lets make food good again: Make dinner for your family. Use good ingredients. Plant a garden. (Click on this!)
And get ready, because soon the Farmer's Market will be here. Yay!

Beach Blanket Bingo

2010-04-25T18:55:00.000-07:00

Have you seen this 60s movie? Besides being completly absurd and often hard to follow, it's also pretty catchy. Last year I spent part of the summer at my grandparent's house and taught them ho to watch movies and stuff online.

The first movie my grandpa wanted to watch was his old favorite, Beach Blanket Bingo. This is the opening clip, but you can watch the whole thing on Hulu, if you feel so inclined.

Oh, and check it out, the old man with the fishing pole is Buster Keaton!

This second scene is my other favorite, but mostly because of the dancing. For any of you who have ever seen me at a dance party, it probably looks familiar. See I'm not a bad dancer, I just should have been a teen in the 60s.

Then my flailing would seem commonplace.

A few short letters

2010-04-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

Dear Shots and Malaria and Typhoid Pills,

Thank you for costing well over 400 freaking dollars.

Becky and Travis

Dear Sienna,

Thank you for teaching me how to make bread rise. The bread I baked (successfully) rose up double its size before I punched it down little. When I baked it in its pan it rose up like three inches over the top. It is golden and beautiful and delicious.

Love Becky

Dear Provo,

Somewhere out there someone should hire me. You should pay me lots of money and not make me work through June. I'll be in Africa.

Mrs. Pitcher (more professional, you know)

Dear Visiting Teachees,

Sorry I haven't been by to see you yet this month. I promise I'm coming.

Also, I'm planning a girls night for us since I got Bright Star via Netflix, and Travis doesn't want to watch it. Plus its PG, I know you ladies like that.

Sister Pitcher

Dear Avatar,

I saw that you're out on DVD now. I will not buy you. Avatar the last airbender is much better, and totally unrelated to you.

Becky

Dear neighbors,

Sorry I've been listening to that Pop mix Suzette made me so loudly. I know there's a lot of Beyonce and a heavy beat to most of them. I hope it doesn't upset you, I just want to pump it since school's out.

Becky (and yeah, "pump it" is the correct term)

Dear blog readers,

I keep promising you pictures and you're just gonna have to trust they're coming soon. Or don't trust that, that might be safer.

Heart Breaker (Becky)

What? your heart isn't broken at the idea of no pictures from me??

Whitney is funny

2010-04-21T18:55:00.000-07:00

This is my friend Whitney, she is in Divine Comedy.

Today I was listening to Beyonce and I kept chuckling and thinking of this Divine Comedy video.

Watch it. Besides beyond being just as addicting as any Beyonce song, it is much funnier.

I really love her crazy faces. Her face is so pretty, but she can seriously look crazed.

And that, I suppose, is a compliment.

Also, Whitney is one of the many people who inspired me to have short hair.

She just rocks the pixie cut too much to not envy.

I bake bread with flour

2010-04-20T13:02:00.000-07:00

In a half hour I will go and take (and hopefully pass) my last final of the semester.

And in one year I will go and take my very last final EVER.
Good news, I passed Geology.
I think its due in part to that fact that I finally learned the class name: Geology, not Geography.
Easily confused for each other. I can't be blamed for constantly mistaking my class' name.

Now here's some bad news, we have to get shots for Africa, including the Yellow Fever shot, which costs 87 dollars EACH!
Travis and I have to pay to go in and stick needles full of illness into our arms.
Blah blah blah, I can hear you now, saying things like "You should be grateful you can get immunizations."
To that I say, "I have a great phobia of shots and needles and have been seriously considering not going to Africa because I don't want to get shots."
However, I have maned up and decided I will get the shots and it will be worth it, but for goodness sake, why must I give them a third of my pay check for one measly immunization!
Blegh. Back to good news, shall we?
It is absurdly beautiful outside here in Provo. I have a brown neck and arms and legs and I LOVE it. The brownness of my body comes about like this:
Every day of the last week I've said, "I think I will go outside and and read on this blanket in our yard. " After ten minutes of squinting at the VERY bright white paper that books are printed on, I close my eyes and fall asleep.
Half an hour later I wake up because the ants crawling on my legs are tickling like crazy.
I get up, shake out my blanket, tell the ants to please keep their distance, lie down on my back and fall asleep.
I wake up in a half hour to the ants again and then go inside. Then maybe to the park on my bike.
More good news? Okay.
Travis is so Fix-y. He fixed my bike and put a basket on it and fixed his bike and oiled it up and then he hammered things and worked on things and built some things. I love it.
Although he is an awesome man I am having a hard time fulfilling my stereotypical woman duties. You know, the ones I LOVE to fulfil because it's a little like playing house and also because I happen to like most of the things women do, like cook and sew and play with babies.
Anyway, what I'm referring to is my bread making skills.
I have none.
I have tried and failed three different times this week (as well as multiple times in the past) to make bread rise.
I even shout at it inspirationally. "Rise I tell you! RISE!"
But it ignored me and stayed flat.
I tried to bake some of this flat bread and that was a horrible experience, because it came out smelling SO good and tasting very disgusting.
I asked four different women and also a boy to teach me to make bread and they all said "Well, do you have a wheat grinder?"
WHAT? No, Utahans, you amazing Utahans. I bake bread with flour.
Not with whole wheat that I've ground myself.
I cannot believe it. It makes me feel highly amazed.

Luckily for me my breaxpert (bread-expert, a word I just invented) friend Sienna is going to have me over tomorrow afternoon to learn bread making in her new and pretty kitchen.
This is something I have time for BECAUSE I am going now to take my last final.

(Wish me luck!)

Imagination

2010-04-16T10:17:00.000-07:00

I hate Milo and Otis.

It is the worst and most boring and full-of-animal-cruelty movie I've ever seen.

When I watched it and Milo was fighting a little crab that actually grabbed on to his mouth, I thought "That's mean, making a cat fight a pinching little crab,"
But by the end I was thinking,

"That's mean making that little dog actually fight that BEAR. That's mean making that cat actually go DOWN A WATERFALL in a wooden box. That's mean tricking these animals into hurting themselves constantly and fighting with bigger animals."

Then I moved on to "That's mean making us watch a cat give birth and now, oh HOLY CRAP! Watching that DOG give birth. And why do children love this movie where animals are fighting and a dry British SUPER boring man is narrating and doing all the voices of different animals?"

This movie was similar, I believe to The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. This is a book that all children believe that they love. But if you ask a child what the book is about they will say "A little boy and girl run away and hide in a museum."
Just like if you ask a child what Milo and Otis is about they will say "A puppy and kitty go on an adventure."
When in fact those are terrible descriptions of what happens in either. Kids like the imagination they personally have but must, I'm sure, hate the dry stupid adult narrating and they must hate The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and they must hate Milo and Otis.

At least they would if they knew what was happening.
And adults would hate them if they rewatched/read them instead of relying on their fond and incorrect childhood memories.

p.s. Every single person who worked on Milo and Otis, except maybe the narrator, was Japanese... I wonder what we can learn from that...

mint-green basketball hoop

2010-04-15T14:43:00.000-07:00

Usually I try to think of a title for a post before I write it. I can do this because I usually plan out in my brain all the things I'll say to you way before I write it.

I didn't do that today and I'm having a hard time naming this post, because I have the feeling but not the words yet. I think the words go like this:

I'm afraid to talk about my Great-grandmother on my blog. We called her Babalou.

The reason I'm afraid to talk about her is that I want to say things about her that I think I remember, but her daughter and grand-daughters and windowed husband could all read this blog and say, "No, Becky, she didn't do that. Your imagination invented it."

And I like the way that I remember her, even if it isn't quite how it really was.

Babalou died when I ten from breast cancer. So the things I remember are probably skewed.

But I think she talked a little like Julia Child. Sort of deep and throaty.

and she wore strong Chanel perfume and whenever I smell it somewhere else I feel like crying, but not because I miss her, even though I do. But I feel a little like crying because I miss her house.

The house that we only came in to through the back door, because the backdoor led to the family room where the tv was and Grandpa was. There was a ledge into the kitchen where Babalou'd put out little cookies that she'd decorated with candy.

The front door had a bell on it.

It led into a room with white carpet and furniture and little shelves of fragile things we couldn't touch. The whole house smelled like her and when she died and Grandpa moved that was what broke my heart.

It broke my heart that he was leaving that house with the upstairs room that felt like my room. That was the only grandparent's house where I wanted to go and play, instead of sit in front of the tv, because no offense Grandmas who read my blog, but Grandma houses are boring for little kids.

But they had a wooden mint green basketball hoop in the driveway, and neighbor kids across the street and next door, and hopscotch lines pressed into the cement , and a giant garden in the back yard.

And when I say a giant garden, I mean GIANT. In my child-mind I imagined it to be an acre stretching from the back wall of the house down a hill to a path which eventually led to ponds and good climbing trees. The acre between the house and path was filled with boxes and planters and flowers and berries and everything good. There was even a tree full of a raccoon family and every night after dinner the Momma raccoon would come down to the back door, the family door, and wash their paws in a little bowl of water that Babalou set out. Then, carefully, and with perfect table manners, the raccoon would eat the leftovers from our dinner.

If somehow Babalou forgot to put out their food or there wasn't enough to share, the big Momma raccoon would stand up and rap on glass door with her tiny fist until someone brought them dinner.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the house today because of something my Grandpa (her widower) said on his blog, which is something you should read, because it will make you cry.

The Blue Bookcase

2010-04-15T09:46:00.000-07:00

So, I love books.

(If you read this blog often you're probably laughing that I said that, since it's like me saying "So, I breathe oxygen." Yes, you're thinking, we already know.)

I found a book blog that I like! That, as you might NOT know, is a big deal since usually when I find a book blog it's like this:

Sloppy electric green background with words in some horrible unreadable color like purple.
One blog author who has one genre of book she reads, like Young Adult Fantasy.
Said blog author is pretentious and rarely likes books, but cannot give any real substantial reasons for disliking these books.
When she does like books it is again for unknown reasons.
She describes only one book every few weeks when she finishes reading them.
When "reviewing" books she uses words like "Believable" and "likable" and other words that end in "able."

Yes, I used purple to confuse and disturb you.

I hate these blogs. They make me feel sad.
SO when I found The Blue Bookcase, imagine my NOT sadness. In fact, imagine my joy!
Their blog is simple and pretty. They write clearly and positively about many genres of books. And yes! I'm saying THEY because it's more than one person writing reviews!
Check out the Little Blue Bookcase, and check out their book giveaway!

Update on Africa

2010-04-14T08:03:00.001-07:00

Remember how we're going to KENYA this summer to film a documentary?

Well NOW we're also going to UGANDA! We'll be filming two documentaries there as well for Help International. Travis did a doc for them last week for Tipping Bucket. (Check it out, and think about adding a drop to the bucket -- just a dollar donation is all they're asking for!)

Two of my friends will also be in Uganda with Help International this summer, Paige and Nicole and I'm excited to think I might get to see them working to change the world, and bring sight to the sightless. Check out the Help International Website, or just watch this three minute film and learn all 'bout what we be doing this summer.
YAY!

And if you've forgotten what we're doing in Kenya, then check out Komaza's website and learn a little bit more about micro farming. We'll be making a doc about them first!

Cinnamon

2010-04-13T21:36:00.000-07:00

I was recently surprised to learn that I don't like cinnamon.
I don't think I've ever liked it, really.

But I always thought I liked cinnamon, and I think it's because cinnamon and sugar go together like bacon and eggs, or peanut butter and jelly.
I figured that something so delicious as sugar could not have a bad counterpart.

And cinnamon is only really used in desserts, and I love desserts.
I'm never really in the mood for cinnamon rolls,
I like rice with soy sauce more than rice with sugar, cinnamon and milk (a favorite among most of my friends)
I've never been a huge fan of cinnamon raisin bread but always assumed it was the raisins,
and apple pie has never been my favorite type of pie, but how could it be with peach pie and angel pie existing?
I prefer Froot-Loops over Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
but I just never put two and to together.

It never ever occurred to me that I don't like cinnamon. Never ever.
Until a few months ago when someone asked me if I wanted something cinnamony (I don't even remember what now...) and Travis replied for me, "Becky doesn't like cinnamon."
"What?!" I exclaimed, "I love cinnamon, I'm just not in the mood."
Travis raised his eyebrows and said, "You don't like cinnamon. You're never in the mood. I've known this for months."

Then it hit me. My mind was reeling. It was beyond my control. (I can think of no more cliche's to add here.)

I don't like cinnamon.
He was right.

I practiced saying it, "I don't like cinnamon. I don't like cinnamon. I DON'T LIKE CINNAMON!"

I feel free! Free as a bird! I don't have to pretend I like cinnamon or constantly refuse cinnamon rolls saying, "I"m not really in the mood, I only like them warm."
Because that's a lie, and when I tell that lie people usually heat cinnamon rolls up for me and I'm forced to nibble on that crusty, nasty cinnamony grossness until I convince someone else to eat it.

Is this blowing your mind? It is blowing mine!
I don't like cinnamon.

and somehow I went my whole life without knowing it.

Baby Belly

2010-04-12T16:12:00.000-07:00

love it much?
I do.

A Weekend of Celebrations

2010-04-12T07:11:00.000-07:00

Can we talk about da best weekend ever? It might be a long post, there were many things to make it wonderful.
It began like this...

Once upon a time there was a boy and girl and they got married. They were pleased as punch (this is an expression I am making an effort to use multiple times today). Six months exactly after they got married was a Saturday morning, the day before the girl's birthday. So with two special days together, the boy and girl decided to spend the whole weekend being absurdly happy.
On Saturday morning they woke up late and the girl made swedish pancakes (LOVE!) while the boy cleaned the kitchen (double LOVE!). Then they went to the store to buy the girl presents, including cake pans and bread pans, so the girl could be the best little housewife ever.
The girl already had many presents from her husband, including a thermos, the Hunger Games, and the Sound of Music. (Because every day since my haircut I look in the mirror and think of Julie Andrews as Maria Vontrap)

Then the boy and girl went to Sammy's, which besides being tasty was also very awesome. For no particular reason Sammy's gave the boy and girl each a free milk shake. Then a waitress looked at them curiously and said, "I wonder what your kids will look like," and the girl said "So do we."
Then the boy and girl went home and the girl baked herself a birthday cake with her new round cake pans, while the boy watched a documentary about high school.
When the boy and girl walked with their friends to Sam Hawks for Korean dinner the girl got a surprise! The friends, Cole and Suzie, stood up on the library garden wall and played Happy Birthday on a kazoo and recorder, then lifted up their baby's shirt to reveal words written across her chubby belly in marker: Happy Birthday Becky!

And everyone laughed.

Dinner was delightful and the girl and boy ate lots of korean food and learned a few new words, before going home to a party! The girl and boy had many friends there, and they had so much fun! All their friends wrote birthday wishes on the blackboard wall, and told Becky her cake was the best they'd had in a long time.
When the boy and girl went to bed that night they were sure tired, but they got up nice and early the next day because, Suzie, the birthday elf had brought them french toast and parfait for breakfast. Then they went to church, came home and took a nap and then
LET THE PARTY BEGIN AGAIN! Can you believe it?
The boy and girl went to the boy's parents house, where it was the boys' dad's birthday too! They ate cake and the girl and dad opened presents. There was an embarrassing moment when the girl couldn't stop saying foreplay over and over, even though she was just trying to foreshadowing. Foreshadowing, foreshadowing. She just couldn't get it out.
They went on a long walk, and then watched LIFE on the discovery channel.
When the boy and girl finally went home they collapsed into bed and slept until this very morning.

Sometime soon, though, when the girl has a little more time, she'll show you the pictures of the baby's belly that says "Happy Birthday" and of the girl and her friends, and the boy and his handsome smile. And everyone will be happy because anniversaries are so fun, but two in one is the very best.
Thhhhee End!

Thanks all, for an awesome birthday.

2 the 9s Giveaway

2010-04-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

This is not a giveaway of mine.
But my good friend Sarah Pearson. For all of you in Provo who know the Flower Shop Boutique, you might recognize some of Sarah's handiwork since she sells her sweet products there.

The giveaway is a custom pair of shoe clips (which I've never even heard of! How creative, right?) so you can just clip the cute little flowers on to your favorite pair of heels or flats.

Check out her blog and enter to win the giveway!